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THE 


FIRST  THREE  YEARS 
OF  CHILDHOOD 


BY  . 

BERNARD  PEREZ 


Edited  and  Translated  by  Alice  M.  Christie,  Translator 
of  “Child  and  Child-Nature,”  etc,  etc. 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 

JAMES  SULLY,  M.A. 

AUTHOR  OF  “  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY,”  “  TEACHERS’  HANDBOOK  OF 
PSYCHOLOGY,”  ETC. 


NEW  YORK  AND  CHICAGO 

E.  L.'  KELLOGG  &  CO, 

1894 


P4  3?P 


Copyright,  1885,  By 
A.  N.  MARQUIS  &  COMPANY. 


Copyright,  1888,  By 
E.  L.  KELLOGG  &  COMPANY. 


PREFACE. 


S 

ft 

K 

X 

!« 

V) 

d 


Four  years  ago  this  book  appeared  to  be  a  fortu¬ 
nate  bit,  offering  as  it  did,  though  on  the  most 
simple  scale,  a  study  of  infant  psychology.  The 
character  of  the  work  arose  naturally  from  the  line  of 
study  I  had  planned.  I  had,  in  fact,  set  myself  to 
follow  out  in  little  children  the  gradual  awakening  of 
those  faculties  which  constitute  the  psychic  activity, 
so  abundantly  differentiated,  so  delicate  and  at  the 
same  time  so  powerful,  of  the  adult  human  being.  It 
was,  no  doubt,  this  intention — possibly  a  somewhat 
premature  one — of  systematizing  a  class  of  observa¬ 
tions,  of  which  hitherto  only  rough  sketches  had  been 
attempted,  which  gained  me  the  encouragement  of 
philosophers  and  educationalists  both  in  France  and 
abroad.  Thus  then,  while  endeavoring  to  improve 
upon  the  modest  beginning  which  had  at  first  won 
me  their  sympathy,  I  could  do  no  better  than  keep 
to  my  original  method.  My  canvases  were  already 
sketched  in  and  accepted :  I  have  merely  endeav¬ 
ored  to  draw  them  a  little  better  and  to  fill  them  in 
more,  to  render  facts  and  interpretations  of  facts 
clearer  and  more  precise. 

With  regard  to  the  facts,  either  simply  described 


14U29 


PREFACE. 


vi 

or  dramatized  in  the  form  of  psychological  anecdotes, 
I  have  carefully  sorted  and  re-arranged  them,  dis¬ 
carding  a  certain  number  which  seemed  to  me  of  little 
importance,  and  adding  a  good  many  others,  either 
taken  out  of  my  own  journals  of  observations  or  bor¬ 
rowed  from  other  people,  but  all  of  them  verified  by 
myself.  I  thought  also  that  I  should  be  readily 
forgiven  for  having  interpolated  a  few  pages  of  psy¬ 
chological  observations  taken  out  of  my  book  on 
Education  from  the  Cradle,  which  seemed  here  in 
their  natural  place,  and  which  will  be  replaced  in  the 
other  book  by  considerations  of  a  more  specially  ped¬ 
agogic  nature.  Both  books  will,  I  think,  have  gained 
by  the  exchange. 

As  to  the  interpretations  of  facts,  I  have  striven  to 
be  guided  by  the  spirit  of  the  experimental  method. 
If  I  have  sometimes  been  happy  in  my  observations 
and  judgments,  it  is  to  this  method  that  the  honor 
is  due ;  the  mistakes  and  omissions  are  my  own 
share.  At  any  rate,  no  one  of  the  systems  of  philo¬ 
sophy,  which,  under  different  names,  have  more  or 
less  exactly  adapted  themselves  to  the  experimental 
method,  is  responsible  for  my  errors.  Although  I 
have  my  preferences  and  my  tendencies,  I  belong  to 
no  school.  I  find  myself  most  often,  it  is  true,  quot¬ 
ing  from  a  Darwin  or  a  Spencer,  hut  I  am  none  the 
less  glad  to  dq  so  from  Mine.  Necker,  de  Saussure, 
and  Guizot,  from  Messrs.  E.  Egger  and  L.  Ferri, 
when  they  can  give  me  the  fruits  of  real  experience. 
I  do  not  ask  of  facts  and  ideas  for  their  label  and 


PREFACE. 


vii 


trade-mark  before  admitting  them  to  my  humble  psy¬ 
chological  domain ;  it  is  enough  for  me  that  they  are 
facts  well  observed  and  well  described,  enough  that 
they  are  clear  and  judicious  ideas. 

It  is  in  such  a  spirit  that  I  would  have  my  readers 
deal  with  my  essay  on  infant  psychology ;  letting  all 
thoughts  of  a  particular  system  be  secondary  in  their 
minds,  as  they  have  been  in  my  own.  I  have  often 
pondered — trying  to  turn  them  to  account  myself — 
those  most  pithy  words  of  Mr.  F.  Pollock’s  :  “  And 

as  science  makes  it  plainer  every  day  that  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  a  fixed  equilibrium,  either  in  the  world 
without  or  in  the  mind  within,  so  it  becomes  plain 
that  the  genuine  and  durable  triumphs  of  philosophy 
are  not  in  systems  but  in  ideas.”1 

If  some  few  good  ideas  are  found  scattered  in  my 
book,  I  beg  my  readers  neither  to  see  nor  seek  for  any¬ 
thing  else  in  it. 

Bernard  Perez. 


'Spinoza:  His  Life  and  Philosophy,  p.  408. 


14029 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE. 

I.  The  Faculties  of  the  Infant  before  Birth  .  1 

II.  The  First  Impressions  of  the  New-born  Child  7 

CHAPTER  II. 

I.  Motor  Activity  at  the  Beginning  of  Life  -  11 

II.  Motor  Activity  at  Six  Months  -  -  -  -  16 

III.  Motor  Activity  at  Fifteen  Months  20 

CHAPTER  III. 

I.  Instructive  and  Emotional  Sensations  -  -  23 

II.  The  First  Perceptions . 32 

CHAPTER  IV. 

I.  General  and  Special  Instincts  -  -  -  44 

II.  Special  Instincts . 49 

CHAPTER  V. 

The  Sentiments . ...60 

CHAPTER  VI. 

I.  Intellectual  Tendencies . 82 

II.  Veracity . 86 

III.  Imitation . 90 

IV.  Credulity . 94 

CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Will . .  .  99 


CONTENTS. 


x 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

PAGE. 

The  Faculties  of  Intellectual  Acquisition  and  Re¬ 
tention. 

I.  Attention . 110 

II.  Memory . 121 

CHAPTER  IX. 

The  Association  of  Psychical  States. 

I.  Association . 131 

II.  Imagination . 147 

III.  Special  Imagination . 152 

CHAPTER  X. 

On  the  Elaboration  of  Ideas. 

I.  Judgment . 163 

II.  Abstraction . 177 

III.  Comparison . 189 

IV.  Generalization . 196 

V.  Reasoning . 209 

VI.  The  Errors  and  Illusions  of  Children  -  -  223 

VII.  Errors  owing  to  Moral  Causes  ...  231 

CHAPTER  XI. 

On  Expression  and  Language,  Parts  I.,  II., 

III.  -  ...  ...  .  234,  239,  249 

CHAPTER  XII. 

The  ^Esthetic  Sense  in  Little  Children. 

I.  The  Musical  Sense . 263 

II.  The  Sense  of  Material  Beauty  ...  268 

III.  The  Constructive  Instinct  ...  -^274 

IV.  The  Dramatic  Instinct  -  -  -  -  -  276 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

I.  Personality.— Reflection.— Moral  Sense  -  280 

II.  The  Moral  Sense  -  -  -  -  285 


INTRODUCTION. 


Among  the  many  new  fields  of  investigation 
which  modern  science  has  opened  up,  there  is 
none  which  is  more  inviting  than  that  of  infant 
psychology.  The  beginnings  of  all  things  are 
full  of  interest,  as  we  see  by  the  amount  of 
inquiry  now  devoted  to  the  origin  of  human 
institutions  and  ideas,  and  all  the  various  forms 
of  life.  And  the  beginnings  of  a  human  mind, 
the  first  dim  stages  in  the  development  of  man’s 
God-like  reason,  ought  surely  to  be  most  inter¬ 
esting  of  all.  And  infancy  has  its  own  peculiar 
charm.  There  is  an  exquisite  poetry  in  thq 
spontaneous  promptings  of  the  unsophisticated 
spirit  of  the  child.  So  far  removed  at  times 
from  our  one-sided  prejudiced  views,  so  high 
above  our  low  conventional  standards  are  the 
little  one’s  intuitions  of  his  new  world.  Child¬ 
hood  has  its  unlovely  and  unworthy  side  no 
doubt.  Still  I  cannot  think  that  any  close 
observer  of  infancy  ever  thoroughly  believed  in 
its  total  depravity.  Possibly,  indeed,  to  a  per¬ 
fectly  candid  mind  its  fresh  and  striking  observ¬ 
ations  about  things,  which,  though  often  bizarre, 
are  on  the  whole  thoroughly  sound  and  whole¬ 
some,  are  always  apt  to  suggest  the  pleasing 
fancy  of  Plato  and  Wordsworth,  that  the  little 


iv  TIIE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

new-comer  brings  from  his  ante-natal  abode  ideas 
and  feelings  .which  lie  high  above  the  plane  of 
earthly  experience.  However  this  be,  no  thor¬ 
oughly  open  and  unspoiled  mind  can  fail  to 
learn  much  that  is  good  from  a  close  study  of 
childhood.  This  is  the  period  when  very  ordi¬ 
nary  mortals  display  something  remarkable. 
Perhaps  indeed  no  healthy  child  has  ever  failed 
to  present  some  new  mental  or  moral  phenom¬ 
enon,  to  impress,  amuse,  or  instruct,  if  only  the 
appreciating  eyes  had  been  there  to  see. 

But  it  is  not  with  the  poetic  side  of  infancy 
that  we  are  here  specially  concerned.  We  have 
to  look  on  the  opening  germ  of  intelligence  from 
the  colder  point  of  view  of  science.  Not  that 
the  savant  need  be  insensible  to  the  aesthetic 
charm  of  his  subject.  A  botanist  ought  perhaps 
to  feel  something  of  the  rich  store  of  loveliness 
which  lies  enclosed  within  the  tiny  confines  of  a 
wayside  flower.  Scientific  curiosity  often  leaps 
into  full  and  vigorous  life  under  the  genial 
vivifying  influence  of  a  glowing  admiration. 
And  a  man  who  has  a  keen  eye  for  all  the  pretty 
and  humorous  traits  of  infant  life  is  all  the  better 
cpialified  for  a  close  scientific  observation  of  its 
processes.  Only  that  in  this  case  the  aesthetic 
interest  must  be  subordinated  to  the  scientific. 

The  science  which  is  specially  concerned  with 
the  baby  mind  is  Psychology.  It  is  only  the 
psychologist  who  can  pretend  to  record  and 
interpret  all  its  strange  ways.  And  on  the  other 


INTRODUCTION. 


V 


hand,  the  domain  of  infant  life  is  of  peculiar 
interest  to  the  psychologist.  True,  he  can  study 
in  other  ways  the  manner  in  which  the  human 
mind  behaves,  and  the  laws  which  bind  together 
its  sequent  movements.  He  has  a  mind  of  his 
own,  which  is  directly  accessible  to  his  internal 
vision ;  and  there  are  the  minds  of  his  friends 
and  acquaintances,  about  which  he  can  know  a 
good  deal  too,  always  provided  that  they  are 
quite  open  and  confiding.  Still,  he  can  not  dis¬ 
pense  with  the  young  unformed  minds  of  infants. 
His  business,  like  that  of  all  scientific  workers,  is 
to  explain  the  complex  in  terms  of  the  simple,  to 
trace  back  the  final  perfectly  shaped  result  to  the 
first  rude  beginnings.  In  order  to  this,  he  must 
make  a  careful  study  of  the  early  phases  of 
mental  life,  and  these  manifest  themselves  directly 
under  his  eye  in  each  new  infant. 

Some  of  the  gravest  questions  relating  to 
man’s  nature  and  destiny  carry  us  back  to  the 
observation  of  infancy.  Take,  for  instance,  the 
warmly-discussed  question,  whether  conscience 
is  an  innate  faculty — each  man’s  possession 
anterior  to  and  independently  of  all  the  external 
human  influences,  authority,  discipline,  moral 
education,  which  go  to  shape  it ;  or  whether,  on 
the  contrary,  it  is  a  mere  outgrowth  from  the 
impressions  received  in  the  course  of  this  train¬ 
ing.  Nothing  seems  so  likely  to  throw  light  on 
this  burning  question  as  a  painstaking  observa¬ 
tion  of  the  first  years  of  life. 


vi  THE  FIEST  THEEE  YEAES  OE  CHILDHOOD. 

This,  however,  is  not  the  whole  of  the  sig¬ 
nificance  of  infancy  to  the  modern  psychologist. 
We  are  learning  to  connect  the  individual  life 
with  that  of  the  race,  and  this  again  with  the 
collective  life  of  all  sentient  creatures.  The 
doctrine  of  evolution  bids  us  view  the  unfolding 
of  a  human  intelligence  to-day  as  conditioned 
and  prepared  by  long  ages  of  human  experience, 
and  still  longer  cycles  of  animal  experience. 
The  civilized  individual  is  thus  a  memento,  a 
kind  of  short-hand  record  of  nature’s  far-reced¬ 
ing  work  of  organizing,  or  building  up  living 
conscious  structures.  And  according  to  this  view 
the  successive  stages  of  the  mental  life  of  the 
individual  roughly  answer  to  the  periods  of  this 
extensive  process  of  organization — vegetal,  ani¬ 
mal,  human,  civilized  life.  This  being  so,  the 
first  years  of  the  child  are  of  a  peculiar  anti¬ 
quarian  interest. 

Here  we  may  note  the  points  of  contact  of 
man’s  proud  reason  with  the  lowly  intelligence 
of  the  brutes.  In  the  most  ordinary  child  we 
may  see  a  new  dramatic  representation  of  the 
great  cosmic  action,  the  laborious  emergence  of 
intelligence  out  of  its  shell  of  animal  sense  and 
appetite. 

Yet  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  interest 
here  is  wholly  historical  or  archaeological.  For 
in  thus  detecting  in  the  developmental  processes 
of  the  child’s  mind  an  epitome  of  human  and 
animal  evolution,  we  learn  the  better  to  under- 


INTRODUCTION. 


VU 


stand  those  processes.  We  are  able  to  see  in 
such  a  simple  phenomenon  as  an  infant’s  respon¬ 
sive  smile  a  product  of  far-reaching  activities 
lying  outside  the  individual  existence.  In  the 
light  of  the  new  doctrine  of  evolution,  the  early 
period  of  individual  development,  which  is  pre¬ 
eminently  the  domain  of  instinct, — that  is  to  say, 
of  tendencies  and  impulses  which  cannot  be 
referred  to  the  action  of  the  preceding  circum¬ 
stances  of  the  individual, — is  seen  to  be  the  re¬ 
gion  which  bears  the  clearest  testimony  to  this 
preparatory  work  of  the  race.  It  is  in  infancy 
that  we  are  least  indebted  to  our  individual 
exertions,  mental  as  well  as  bodily,  and  that 
our  debt  to  our  progenitors  seems  heaviest.  In 
the  rapidity  with  which  the  infant  co-ordinates 
external  impressions  and  movements,  as  in 
learning  to  follow  a  light  with  the  eyes,  or 
stretch  out  the  hands  to  seize  an  object,  and 
with  which  feelings  of  fear,  anger,  etc.,  attach 
themselves  to  objects  and  persons,  we  can 
plainly  trace  the  play  of  heredity — that  law  by 
which  each  new  individual  starts  on  his  life 
course  enriched  by  a  legacy  of  ancestral  ex¬ 
perience. 

Viewed  in  this  light,  infant  psychology  is 
seen  to  be  closely  related  to  other  departments 
of  the  science.  To  begin  with,  it  has  obvious 
points  of  contact  with  what  is  known  as  the 
psychology  of  race  (Volkerpsychologie).  The 
first  years  of  the  child  answer  indeed  to  the 


Vlll  THE  FIRST  THREE  TEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

earliest  known  stages  of  limnan  history.  How 
curiously  do  the  naive  conceptions  of  nature, 
the  fanciful  animistic  ideas  of  things,  and  the 
rude  emotions  of  awe  and  terror,  which  there 
is  good  reason  to  attribute  to  our  earliest 
human  ancestors,  reflect  themselves  in  the  lan¬ 
guage  of  the  child !  It  is  probable  indeed 
that  inquiries  into  the  beginnings  of  human 
culture,  the  origin  of  language,  of  primitive 
ideas  and  institutions,  might  derive  much  more 
help  than  they  have  yet  done  from  a  close 
scrutiny  of  the  events  of  childhood. 

Again,  it  is  evident  that  the  psychology  of 
the  infant  borders  on  animal  psychology.  The 
child’s  love  of  animals  points  to  a  special  facility 
in  understanding  them  ways ;  and  this,  again, 
indicates  a  certain  community  of  nature.  The 
intelligence  of  children  and  of  animals  has  this 
in  common,  that  each  is  simple  and  direct,  un¬ 
encumbered  with  the  fruit  of  wide  comparison 
and  abstract  reflection,  keen  and  incisive  within 
its  own  narrow  compass.  Both  the  child  and 
the  brute  are  exposed  by  their  ignorance  to 
similar  risks  of  danger  and  deception ;  both 
show  the  same  instincts  of  attachment  and 
trustfulness.  And  so  a  study  of  the  one  helps 
the  understanding  of  the  other.  The  man  or 
woman  who  sees  most  clearly  into  the  workings 
of  a  child’s  mind  will,  other  things  being  equal, 
be  the  best  understander  of  animal  ways,  and 
vice  versa. 


INTRODUCTION. 


IX 


There  is  one  particular  aspect  of  this  relation 
between  infant  and  animal  psychology  which 
calls  for  special  notice.  The  baby  contrasts 
strongly  with  the  young  of  the  lower  animals 
in  the  meagreness  of  its  equipment  for  life. 
Though,  as  observed  above,  the  child  reaps 
the  heritage  of  the  past  in  instinctive  germs  of 
capacity,  these  are  far  less  conspicuous,  far 
less  perfect  and  self-sufficing  than  the  unlearnt 
aptitudes  of  young  animals.  The  young  chick 
seems  able  to  co-ordinate  the  movements  of 
its  head  with  visual  impressions  so  perfectly 
from  the  very  first  that  it  can  aim  with  accuracy 
at  so  small  an  object  as  a  grain  of  corn.  The 
young  kitten  displays  quite  an  experienced  and 
mature  hostility  to  the  hereditary  foes  of  its 
species.  There  is  nothing  corresponding  to 
this  in  the  case  of  human  offspring.  The  baby 
has  to  begin  life  in  the  most  pitiable  state  of 
helplessness.  For  a  year  and  more  he  cannot 
execute  one  of  the  most  important  and  wide¬ 
spread  functions  of  animal  life,  namely  locomo¬ 
tion.  And  this  prolonged  period  of  helplessness 
has  a  deeply  interesting  significance  from  the 
point  of  view  of  the  evolutionist.  The  back¬ 
wardness  of  the  human  offspring,  as  compared 
with  the  forwardness  of  the  animal,  is  only  a 
striking  illustration  of  a  general  law  or  tendency 
of  evolution.  As  creatures  rise  in  the  scale  of 
organization  they  have  to  adapt  their  actions 
to  a  wider  and  wider  variety  of  circumstances 


X  THE  FIRST  THREE  TEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

and  actions  of  the  environment.  In  the  lower 
grades  of  animal  life  there  is  much  more  same¬ 
ness  and  routine  just  because  there  is  much 
more  simplicity.  In  the  higher  grades,  actions, 
having  to  adapt  themselves  to  more  complex 
and  changeful  surroundings,  are  more  varied,  or 
undergo  more  numerous  and  extensive  modifi¬ 
cations  :  contrast  the  actions  performed  by  the 
bee  in  obtaining  its  food  with  those  carried  out 
by  the  fox.  And  the  capability  of  thus  varying 
or  modifying  actions  is  the  result  of  individual 
experience  and  education.  Hence,  as  the  vari¬ 
ability  of  the  actions  of  life  increases,  so  does  the 
area  of  individual  learning  or  acquisition,  as  dis¬ 
tinct  from  that  of  inherited  aptitude  or  instinct. 
And  since  the  range  and  variability  of  human 
actions  are  immeasurably  greater  than  those  of 
the  most  intelligent  animal  performances,  we  find 
that  the  infant  is  least  equipped  for  his  earthly 
pilgrimage  and  has  most  to  do  in  the  way  of 
finding  out  how  to  live. 

And  here  we  seem  to  touch  on  the  more 
practical  side  of  our  subject.  To  the  helpless¬ 
ness  of  the  infant  there  correspond  those  instincts 
of  tendance,  protection,  and  guidance  which, 
though  discernible  in  the  lower  animals,  are  only 
highly  developed  in  man ;  and  which,  while  they 
are  seen  most  conspicuously  in  the  human 
mother,  are  shared  in  by  all  adults,  and  underlie 
the  long  and  tedious  processes  of  education.  It 
is  not  only  the  theoretic  psychologist  who  needs 


INTRODUCTION. 


XI 


to  study  infantine  ways ;  it  is  the  practical  psy¬ 
chologist,  that  is  to  say,  the  educator.  The  first 
three  or  four  years  of  life  supply  the  golden  har¬ 
vest  to  which  every  scientific  educationist  should 
go  to  reap  his  facts.  For  the  cardinal  principle 
of  modern  educational  theory  is,  that  systematic 
training  should  watch  the  spontaneous  move¬ 
ments  of  the  child’s  mind  and  adapt  its  processes 
to  these.  And  it  is  in  the  first  years  of  life  that 
the  spontaneous  tendencies  show  themselves  most 
distinctly.  It  is  in  this  period,  before  the  exam¬ 
ple  and  direct  instruction  of  others  have  had 
time  to  do  much  in  modifying  and  restraining 
innate  tendency,  that  we  can  most  distinctly  spy 
out  the  characteristics  of  the  child.  It  is  the 
infant  who  tells  us  most  unmistakably  how  the 
young  intelligence  proceeds  in  groping  its  way 
out  of  darkness  into  light.  It  is  an  historical 
fact,  that  the  supreme  necessity  in  education  of 
setting  out  with  training  the  senses  and  the 
faculty  of  observation,  was  discovered  by  a  close 
Consideration  of  the  direction  which  children’s 
mental  activity  spontaneously  follows.  By  sit¬ 
ting  at  the  feet  of  nature  and  conning  the  ways 
of  untaught  childhood  we  may  learn  that  all  the 
essential  functions  of  intelligence, — separation  or 
analysis,  comparison,  discrimination,  etc., — come 
into  play  under  the  stimulating  force  of  a  strong 
external  impression.  In  the  act  of  holding  and 
looking  at  its  brightly-coloured  toy  the  infant  is 
already  showing  himself  to  have  a  distinctively 


Xll  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

human  mind,  and  to  be  on  the  road  to  abstract 
reflection  or  thought.  It  is  during  that  prolonged 
gaze  that  the  first  rude  tentatives  in  distinguish¬ 
ing  and  relating  the  parts  and  qualities  of  things 
are  effected.  And  the  object-lesson,  properly 
conceived,  is  nothing  but  a  methodical  develop¬ 
ment  of  the  mental  processes  which  are  involved 
in  every  serious  effort  of  infantine  inspection. 

Nor  is  it  only  on  the  intellectual  side  that  this 
study  of  the  infant  mind  is  of  moment  to  the 
teacher.  It  is  in  the  first  three  or  four  years  of 
life  that  we  have  the  key  to  the  emotional  and 
moral  nature  of  the  young.  If  we  want  to  know 
how  a  child  feels  about  things,  what  objects  and 
articles  bring  him  most  pleasure,  we  must  watch 
him  at  his  self-prompted  play  and  overhear  his 
uncontrolled  talk.  It  seems  self-evident  indeed 
that  if  the  teacher  is  to  adapt  his  method  of 
training  so  far  as  may  be  to  the  tastes  and  pre¬ 
dilections  of  the  pupil,  he  must  have  made  a 
preliminary  study  of  these  in  their  unprompted 
and  unfettered  expression.  If  the  study  be 
deferred  to  school  life  it  will  never  be  full  or 
exact.  The  artificial  character  of  even  the 
brightest  school  surroundings  offers  too  serious 
an  obstacle  to  the  free  play  of  childish  likings. 

Enough  has  been  said,  perhaps,  to  show  that 
the  observation  and  interpretation  of  the  infant 
mind  are  at  once  a  matter  of  great  theoretic  and 
practical  importance.  And  now  comes  the  ques¬ 
tion  :  By  whom  can  this  line  of  research  be  best 


INTRODUCTION. 


Xlll 


pursued  ?  The  conditions  of  success  are  plainly 
two  :  (1)  proper  qualifications  for  the  work,  and 
(2)  ample  opportunity. 

1.  With  respect  to  the  first  condition,  it  has 
already  been  suggested  that  a  good  observer  of 
childish  ways  must  combine  a  number  of  intel¬ 
lectual  and  moral  excellences.  He  must,  to 
begin  with,  be  a  painstaking  and  exact  observer. 
He  must  be  determined  to  see  children  as  they 
actually  are, -and  not  to  construct  them  out  of  his 
own  presuppositions.  And  this  implies  a  mind 
trained  in  observation,  and  a  certain  scientific 
rigour  of  intellect.  Yet  this  is  clearly  not  enough, 
for  many  an  excellent  observer  of  other  domains 
of  nature  might  prove  a  very  sorry  depicter  of 
infant  traits.  The  close  habitual  concentration 
of  the  mind  on  things  so  trivial,  to  robust  common 
sense,  as  baby  whims  and  oddities,  presupposes 
a  selective  emotion,  a  strong  loving  interest  in 
this  particular  domain  of  natural  fact.  And 
this,  again,  implies  that  the  observer  should  be 
touched  by  that  enthusiasm  for  childhood 
which  shows  itself  as  a  kind  of  consuming 
passion  in  men  like  Pestalozzi  and  Froebel. 

Nor  is  this  all.  The  infant  mind  cannot  be 
seen,  but  only  divined.  Every  movement  of 
the  tiny  hands,  every  modulation  of  the  baby 
voice,  is  as  meaningless  as  sounds  of  an  un¬ 
known  tongue,  until  the  interpretative  work  of 
imagination  is  added.  And  it  is  just  in  the 
ability  thus  to  construe  the  external  signs  of  in- 


xiv  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

fantine  feeling  and  thought  that  so  many  other¬ 
wise  good  observers  fail.  Nothing  perhaps, 
has  been  more  misunderstood  than  childhood. 
Few  have  the  retentive  memory  of  their  own 
early  experiences  which  would  at  once  put  them 
en  rapport  with  the  mind  they  are  observing. 
And  few  have  the  disposition  to  seriously 
endeavour  to  think  themselves  into  the  situation 
and  circumstances  of  the  child,  casting  aside 
their  own  adult  habits  of  mind,  and  trying  to 
become  themselves  for  the  moment  as  little 
children. 

Neither  the  close  observation  nor  the  careful 
interpretation  of  children’s  words  and  actions 
can  be  counted  on  where  there  is  not  love  and 
the  habitijal  companionship  which  grows  out  of 
love.  The  man  to  whom  children  will  reveal 
themselves,  is  not  he  who  is  wont  to  look  on 
them  as  a  nuisance  or  a  bore,  but  he  who  finds 
them  an  amusement  and  a  delight,  who  likes 
nothing  better  than  to  cast  aside  now  and  again 
the  heavy  armour  of  serious  business,  and  indulge 
in  a  good  childish  romp.  Understanding  of  the 
child’s  mental  workings,  his  own  peculiar  manure 
de  voir,  his  standard  of  the  importance  of  things, 
and  so  forth,  presupposes  a  habit  of  steeping  the 
mind  in  the  atmosphere  of  child-life. 

2.  It  follows  that  a  complete  qualification  for 
the  office  includes  the  second  condition,  namely, 
ample  opportunity.  Nobody  ever  acquired  the 
art  of  reading  the  book  of  child-nature  who  had 


INTRODUCTION. 


XV 


not  enjoyed  full  opportunity  of  observation. 
When,  however,  we  consider  the  first  year  or  two 
of  life,  we  see  that  opportunity  is  necessarily 
greatly  restricted.  Beyond  the  mother,  nurse, 
and  perhaps  the  doctor,  who  is  there  that  is 
privileged  to  watch  the  first  tremulous  move¬ 
ments  of  the  baby-mind  ? 

And  here  the  thought  naturally  occurs,  that 
the  mother  is  the  person  specially  marked  out 
by  nature  for  this  honourable  task.  She  is,  or 
ought  to  be,  the  one  who  comes  into  closest  con¬ 
tact  with  the  baby,  and  gives  it  the  first  sweet 
taste  of  human  fellowship.  She  too  has,  or  ought 
to  have,  the  liveliest  interest  in  the  child,  the 
absorbing  interest  of  idolatrous  maternal  love. 
She,  we  all  cheerfully  grant,  will  grudge  no  effort 
spent  in  divining  the  direction  of  those  first 
obscure  baby  impulses,  the  form  of  that  first 
unfamiliar  baby  thought.  But  has  she  the  other 
qualifications — the  mind  severe  in  its  insistance 
on  plain  ungarnished  fact,  trained  in  minute  and 
accurate  observation  and  in  sober  methodical 
interpretation  ?  Here  our  doubts  begin  to  arise. 
Few  mothers,  one  suspects,  could  be  trusted  to 
report  in  a  perfectly  cold-blooded  scientific  way 
on  the  facts  of  infant  consciousness.  The  feeling's 

O 

which  rightly  tend  to  baby-worship  would,  one 
feels  sure,  too  often  lead  to  an  arbitrary  limit¬ 
ation  of  the  area  of  fact,  to  confusion  of  what  is 
actually  observed  with  what  is  only  conjecturally 
inferred,  to  exaggeration  and  misrepresentation. 


Xvi  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

The  very  excellences  of  maternity  seem  in  a 
measure  to  be  an  obstacle  to  a  rigorous  scientific 
scrutiny  of  babyhood. 

The  doctor  would  of  course  be  much  more 
likely  to  possess  the  scientific  qualifications  for 
this  office  of  baby-interpreter.  And  medical 
men  have  been  known  to  throw  themselves  into 
the  work.  At  the  same  time  it  is  obvious  that  a 
doctor’s  preoccupation  of  mind  with  the  physical 
state  of  the  infant  would  necessarily  interfere 
with  a  close  attention  to  psychical  traits.  And 
at  best  he  could  only  obtain,  by  his  direct  observ¬ 
ation  alone,  a  few  fragmentary  results. 

And  here,  perhaps,  we  may  do  well  to  think 
of  another  possible  candidate  for  our  post. 
The  father  can,  it  is  evident,  find  an  ampler 
opportunity  than  the  doctor  for  a  continuous 
systematic  observation  of  his  child.  No  doubt 
he  will  have  obstacles  put  in  his  way.  It  is 
not  improbable  that  the  nurse  may  assert  her 
authority  and  set  her  face  resolutely  against  a 
too  free  intrusion  of  man’s  footsteps  into  the 
woman’s  domain.  Still  these  obstacles  may 
by  judicious  cajoling  be  greatly  reduced  in  size, 
if  not  altogether  removed.  In  most  cases,  it 
may  be  presumed,  he  will  have  a  moderate 
paternal  sort  of  interest  in  the  doings  of  his 
tiny  progeny.  And  his  masculine  intelligence 
will  be  less  exposed  to  the  risk  of  taking  a  too 
sentimental  and  eulogistic  view  of  the  baby 
mind. 


INTRODUCTION. 


XVII 


The  father  cannot,  however,  hope  to  accom¬ 
plish  the  task  alone.  His  restricted  leisure 
compels  him  to  call  in  the  mother  as  collabora- 
teur.  Indeed,  one  may  safely  say,  that  the 
mother’s  enthusiasm  and  patient  brooding 
watchfulness  are  needed  quite  as  much  as  the 
father’s  keen  analytic  vision.  The  mother 
should  note  under  the  guidance  of  the  father, 
he  taking  due  care  to  test  and  verify.  In  this 
way  we  may  look  for  something  like  a  complete 
record  of  infant  life. 

It  is  satisfactory  to  find  that  fathers  are 
waking  up  to  a  sense  of  their  duty  in  this 
matter,  and  are  already  laying  the  foundations 
of  what  may  some  day  grow  into  a  big  biogra¬ 
phical  dictionary  of  infant  worthies.  The 
initiative,  as  might  have  been  expected,  has  been 
taken  by  men  of  scientific  habits  and  tastes. 
Physicians,  naturalists,  and  psychologists  have 
co-operated  in  this  useful  parental  work.  Among 
physicians  may  be  named  Tiedemann,  Sigis- 
mund,  and  Lobisch.  Among  naturalists  figure 
the  names  of  Darwin  and  Professor  Preyer. 
And  the  psychologists  are  represented  by  M. 
Taine,  M.  Perez,  Mr.  F.  Pollok,  and  others.1 

1  Reference  to  the  bibliography  of  the  subject  will  be 
found  in  Preyer’s  Die  Seele  des  Kindes,  cap.  19.  The  obser¬ 
vations  of  Darwin,  Taine,  Pollock,  and  others,  are  recorded 
in  Mind,  vol.  ii.  pp.  252,  285  ;  vol.  iii.  p.  392  ;  vol.  vi.  p. 
104.  I  may  also  refer  to  two  articles  of  my  own,  one  on 
Babies  and  Science,  in  The  Cornhill  Magazine ,  May,  1881, 
and  one  on  Baby  Linguistics,  in  The  English  Illustrated 
Magazine,  November,  1884. 


XV111  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

The  volume  which  is  here  presented  in  an 
English  garb,  is  from  the  pen  of  one  who 
combines  considerable  physiological  and  psy¬ 
chological  knowledge  with  a  practical  interest 
in  education.  M.  Perez  is  best  known  perhaps 
as  a  writer  of  paedagogic  literature.  He  has 
written  a  volume,  as  well  as  occasional  articles 
on  distinctly  paedagogic  themes,  and  in  addition 
to  this  has  edited  writings  of  other  paedagogists. 

The  peculiarity  of  this  record  of  the  first  three 
years  of  the  child,  is  that  it  is  not  a  biographical 
sketch.  M.  Perez,  so  far  as  we  can  judge,  has 
made  special  note  of  the  progress  of  one  or  two 
favourites,  but  his  record  is  a  wide  and  compara¬ 
tive  one.  This  gives  it  its  peculiar  utility. 
Each  mode  of  chronicling  the  events  of  child-life 
is  valuable — the  careful  chronological  report  of  a 
single  child’s  development,  as  that  of  Tiedemann, 
Darwin,  Preyer,  and  others,  and  the  larger  sur¬ 
vey  of  facts  which  comes  from  the  observation  of 
a  number  of  children  and  the  averaging  of  the 
results  reached,  as  in  the  work  of  M.  Perez.  It 
may  be  added  that  our  Author  appears  to  have 
enjoyed  very  exceptional  advantages  in  finding 
out  the  ways  of  infants. 

The  obvious  defect  of  a  single  biographical 
record  is,  that  it  cannot  be  taken  as  typical.  As 
every  mother  of  a  family  knows,  children  mani¬ 
fest  striking  differences  from  the  very  beginning 
of  life.  Indeed,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say,  that 
the  child  shows  its  individuality  the  very  first 


INTRODUCTION. 


XIX 


day  of  its  post-natal  existence,  in  the  way  it  takes 
to  the  nutriment  provided  by  nature.  The  dif¬ 
ferences  of  mental  precocity  in  infants  are  very 
striking  too.  It  is  one  merit  of  the  present  vol¬ 
ume,  that  it  presents  us  with  a  wide  variety  of 
childish  character.  In  some  places  we  have  a 
distinctly  precocious  trait  recorded,  as  for  exam¬ 
ple  in  the  odd  display  of  quasi-pity  by  a  child 
of  sixteen  months,  at  the  sight  of  an  adult  under¬ 
going  a  douche  bath  (p.  80).  En  revanche ,  we 
have  in  other  places  instances  of  quite  common¬ 
place  achievement,  if  not  of  decided  backward¬ 
ness,  as  when  it  is  recorded  that  a  child  of  eleven 
months  was  able  to  understand  a  number  of 
words  and  “even  a  few  little  phrases”  (p.  236). 
It  is  only  by  taking  the  dull  and  the  clever 
infants  together  that  we  are  able  to  reach  the 
idea  of  an  average  typical  development. 

M.  Perez  combines,  I  think,  in  a  very  happy 
and  unusual  way,  the  different  qualifications  of  a 
good  observer  of  children.  He  has  the  first  con¬ 
dition — loving  interest,  and  the  clear  sympathetic 
insight  which  grows  out  of  this.  Even  the 
much-neglected  dreams  of  children  are  a  matter 
of  concern  to  him,  and  receive  illumination  from 
his  bright  intelligence.  Nor  is  he  without  a 
quick  sense  of  the  poetic  charm  of  babyhood. 
Some  of  the  stories  he  tells  us  are  as  fresh  and 
delightful  as  idylls.  They  transport  us  into  the 
very  atmosphere  of  unconventional  child-nature. 
At  the  same  time  he  never  allows  his  sentiment 


XX  TIIE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

to  get  the  better  of  him.  He  is  before  all  other 
things  savant ,  and  as  such  he  exposes  the 
unlovely  side  of  infancy  in  a  most  merciless 
fashion  The  account  of  the  little  ones’  fierce 
angers,  petty  jealousies,  and  brutal  insensibilities 
to  the  sufferings  of  others  will  perhaps  horrify 
some  readers,  who  are  accustomed  to  think  of 
them  as  having  only  a  divine  or  angelic  side; 
but  they  will  be  appreciated  by  every  one  who 
cares  more  for  the  accuracy  of  facts  than  for  their 
conformity  to  our  wishes  and  fancies. 

Another  prominent  feature  of  this  work,  is 
its  clear  recognition  and  appreciation  of  the 
bearings  of  evolution  on  the  facts  of  child-life. 
M.  Perez  is  evidently  an  ardent  evolutionist, 
and  makes  excellent  use  of  the  new  doctrine  in 
explaining  what  he  sees.  This  feature  gives 
the  air  of  newness  to  the  volume.  The 
reader  feels  that  he  is  listening  to  one  who 
is  fully  abreast  of  the  latest  developments  of 
science. 

With  this  feature  may  be  coupled  another, 
namely,  the  ample  reference  to  animal  psycho¬ 
logy.  M.  Perez  illustrates  the  observation 
made  above,  that  interest  in  children  has  a 
close  kinship  with  interest  in  animals.  He  has 
himself  been  a  careful  observer  of  domestic 
animals,  and  his  references  to  his  kittens  are  as 
delightful  to  the  imagination  as  they  are  helpful 
to  the  understanding. 

As  remarked,  M.  Perez  looks  at  the  infant 


( 


INTRODUCTION. 


XXI 


from  an  educator’s  point  of  view.  He  knows 
very  well  that  education  begins  from  the  cradle, 
and  his  book  abounds  with  practical  hints  on 
the  proper  way  of  training  the  very  young. 
His  kindly  nature  is  quick  in  detecting  the 
woes  of  childhood,  and  eloquent  in  pleading 
for  their  mitigation.  Instance  what  is  said 
about  the  wickedness  of  deceiving  children 
(p.  98).  At  the  same  time,  the  pedagogic 
intention  is  never  obtruded  unpleasantly  on 
the  reader’s  notice.  It  is  by  way  of  passing 
suggestion,  rather  than  of  elaborate  enforce¬ 
ment,  that  he  aims  at  making  his  study  of 
facts  a  practical  guide  to  the  mother  and  the 
teacher. 

A  last  feature  of  this  volume  which  is  deserv¬ 
ing  of  mention,  is  its  thoroughly  French  form 
and  style.  The  reader  feels  at  every  page  that 
he  is  listening  to  a  Frenchman  who  knows  how 
to  shape  his  materials,  give  order  and  arrange¬ 
ment  to  his  exposition,  light  it  up  with  per¬ 
tinent  illustration,  and  adorn  it  with  the  graces 
of  style.  While  in  places  the  Author  ventures 
a  few  steps  into  the  darker  recesses  of  meta¬ 
physical  psychology,  he  never  long  forgets  that 
he  is  writing  a  popular  work.  And  he  has 
sncceeded  in  producing  a  volume  which,  while 
it  will  be  of  special  interest  to  the  scientific 
student,  will  attract  the  general  reader  as  well. 

It  may  not  be  superfluous  to  say  perhaps, 
what  I  feei  sure  the  Author  himself  would 


XXII  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

endorse,  that  this  volume  makes  no  pretension  to 
be  a  final  and  exhaustive  study  of  its  subject. 
A  complete  theory  of  the  infant  mind  will  need 
to  be  built  up  by  the  combined  efforts  of  many 
observers  and  thinkers.  In  the  region  of  psy¬ 
chology,  much  more  than  in  that  of  the  physical 
sciences,  repetition  of  observation  and  experi¬ 
ment  is  needed  to  check  and  verify  the  results 
of  individual  research.  The  secrets  of  infancy 
will  only  be  read  after  many  pairs  of  eyes  have 
pored  over  the  page.  Though,  as  observed, 
M.  Perez  has  made  his  studies  unusually  wide,  it 
may  be  reasonably  doubted  whether  in  some 
cases  he  does  not  give  exceptional  instances  as 
typical  and  representative.  Certain  it  is  that  his 
notes  respecting  the  first  appearance  of  sensations, 
e.  y.,  those  of  taste  and  smell,  of  the  perceptions 
of  distance,  etc.,  of  the  movements  of  grasping 
objects,  and  so  forth,  differ  in  some  important 
respects  from  those  of  other  observers.  In  cer¬ 
tain  particulars,  too,  this  volume  is  less  full  than 
some  other  records,  notably  that  of  Professor 
Preyer’s  Die  Seele  des  Kindes ,  which  as  it  was 
published  after  the  work  before  us,  is  not  referred 
to.  Hence  the  student  who  wants  to  be  quite 
abreast  of  the  present  results  of  research  will  do 
well  to  read  other  records  in  company  with  this. 
This  circumstance  however  does  not  in  the  least 
detract  from  the  value  of  The  First  Three  Years , 
as  a  rich  mine  of  facts,  and  one  of  the  fullest,  if  not 
indeed  the  very  fullest,  monograph  on  its  subject. 


INTRODUCTION. 


XX11I 


Ill  conclusion,  I  would  express  the  hope  that 
this  pleasant  volume  will  stimulate  many  an 
English  parent  to  new  individual  research  in  the 
same  promising  field.  After  reading  it  carefully, 
any  person  of  ordinary  intelligence  will  have 
learnt  something  about  the  things  to  be  looked 
for,  and  the  way  in  which  they  are  to  be  looked 
for.  And  I  trust  I  am  not  going  ultra  vires  in 
reminding  my  readers  that  there  is  an  English 
journal  of  psychology,  the  Editor  of  which  has 
proved  his  readiness  to  publish  contributions  to 
the  young  and  promising  science  of  baby-lore. 

James  Sully. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  FACULTIES  OF  THE  INFANT  BEFORE  BIRTH. 

Can  tlie  foetus  be  regarded  as  belonging  to  psychology? 
Psychologists  have  no  doubt  whatever  on  the  subject, 
for  they  will  not  admit  that  any  organism  exists  without 
functions  in  a  greater  or  less  stage  of  development,  and 
they  see  in  the  foetus  a  rough  sketch,  as  it  were,  of  the 
entire  system  of  the  organs  of  sensibility.  No  doubt, 
either,  is  expressed  on  the  question  by  philosophers  of  the 
experimental  school,  who  accord  as  much  importance  to 
the  unconscious  as  to  the  conscious  life  of  the  mind,  and 
who  regard  the  apparently  automatic  movements  of  the 
intra-uterine  stage  of  existence  as  evident  manifestations 
of  sensibility  of  some  sort.  We  will  begin  by  quoting  the 
opinion  expressed  by  Dr.  Luys  concerning  initial  sensibility. 

“  In  the  first  phases  of  foetal  life  it  is  very  difficult  to  fix 
definitely  at  what  epoch  sensibility  manifests  itself  as  a 
motor  force;  nevertheless,  from  the  fourth  month  we  can 
observe  that  the  nervous  system  begins  to  react  and  reveal 
the  vitality  of  the  different  apparatuses  of  which  it  is  made 
up.  We  know,  indeed,  that  from  this  period  the  foetus  is 
sensitive  to  the  action  of  cold,  and  that  we  can  develop  its 
spontaneous  movements  by  applying  a  cold  hand  to  the 
abdomen  of  the  mother.  We  know  also  that  it  executes 
spontaneous  movements  to  withdraw  from  pressure  that 
constrains  it  and  brings  its  sensibility  into  play.  We  may 
then  legitimately  conclude  that  here  we  have  the  first 
gleams  of  awakening  sensibility,  which  from  this  period  is 
transmitted  through  its  natural  channels  by  the  nervous 


2  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


system  and  already  regulated  in  tlie  manner  in  which  it  will 
subsequently  manifest  itself  throughout  the  organism.”  1 

If  we  admit  with  this  writer  the  persistence  in  the  nerve 
cellules  of  the  vibrations  which  first  set  them  in  motion, 
and,  as  regards  intellectual  activity,  the  persistence  in  these 
vibrations  of  memories  and  ideas,  unconscious  though  they 
he,  we  shall  understand  the  great  interest  which  psycholo¬ 
gists  must  feel  in  the  study  of  the  functional  action,  what¬ 
ever  its  nature,  of  psychological  life  before  birth. 

M.  Ribot,  a  philosopher  of  the  experimental  school, 
admits  the  possibility  of  researches  useful  to  psychology 
being  made  on  the  subject  we  are  treating  of,  but  only 
from  the  point  of  view  of  our  knowledge  of  the  unconscious 
life.  The  first  forms  of  unconscious  life  must  be  sought  for 
in  the  foetal  life — a  subject  full  of  obscurity,  and  very  little 
studied  from  the  psychological  point  of  view.  We  may 
hold,  with  Bichat  and  Cabanis,  that  though  the  external 
senses  are  in  the  foetus  in  a  state  of  torpor,  and  though,  in 
the  constant  temperature  of  the  amniotic  fluid,  the  general 
sensibility  of  the  foetus  is  almost  null,  still  its  brain  has 
already  exercised  perception  and  will,  as  seems  to  be 
evidenced  by  the  movements  of  the  foetus  during  the  last 
months  of  pregnancy.2 

Professor  Kussmaul  goes  still  further.  He  admits  “that 
the  child  can,  even  before  birth,  experience  certain  sensa¬ 
tions  and  acquire  certain  aptitudes  by  means  of  the  sense  of 
touch  aroused  in  it  through  contact  with  the  matrix  which 
surrounds  it,  as  well  as  by  the  sensations  of  hunger  and 
thirst  excited  by  the  amniotic  fluid  which  it  swallows. 
Thus,  at  this  period  already,  the  intelligence  of  the  child 
would  begin  to  be  developed,  although  very  imperfectly.” 

What,  we  ask,  do  these  modifications  of  the  mental  life 
before  birth  amount  to?  May  we  hope  that  experimental 
analogy  will  one  day  enlighten  us  on  this  delicate  and 
complex  question?  Will  not  the  comparative  anatomy  of 
the  foetal  brain,  the  child’s  brain,  and  the  adult  brain 


]  Luys,  Le  Cerveau  et  sett  Fonctions.  See  English  translation  (Inter¬ 
national  Scientific  Series),  p.  12(5. 

2  Ribot,  L’Heredite.  See  English  translation,  p.  227. 


THE  FACULTIES  OF  A  CHILD  BEFORE  BIRTH.  3 


some  clay  inform  us  whether  the  primitive  sensations  are 
or  are  not  arrested  before  they  reach  the  nerve  fibres, 
which  help  them  to  transform  themselves  into  perceptions? 
The  organs  of  sense,  although  as  yet  incompletely  finished, 
do  they  not  nevertheless  produce  local  peripheric  reac¬ 
tions,  sensitive  vibrations,  or  veritable  sensations,  which 
are  a  kind  of  rudimentary  exercise  and  training  to  the 
parts  acted  on? 

What  is  the  action  of  external  or  internal  life  on  these 
semi-formed,  semi-active,  perhaps  vaguely  conscious  souls? 
If  the  movements  of  the  foetus  were  all  mechanical  and 
unconscious,  would  its  sensations  end  only  in  dull  excita¬ 
tions  of  the  sensibility — the  importance  of  which  it  is  as 
unreasonable  to  deny  as  to  exaggerate?  Since  the  devia¬ 
tion  of  the  tenth  part  of  a  millimeter  sustained  by  a  nerve 
fibre  during  pregnancy,  exercises  considerable  influence 
over  the  contexture  of  any  one  organ,  the  impressions  re¬ 
ceived  during  foetal  life — whether  regular  or  accidental — 
and  although  working  on  organs  which  are  still  imperfect 
and  unexercised,  must  nevertheless  have  an  influence  on 
the  general  constitution  of  the  mind,  as  well  as  on  its 
special  dispositions,  which  it  will  no  doubt  be  possible  to 
determine  within  certain  limits.  These  are  the  first  rays 
of  spiritual  life  whose  dawn  is  the  moment  of  birth.  It 
is  the  first  page  of  a  book  which  the  psychologist  should 
neither  despair  of  being  able,  nor  be  in  too  great  haste  to 
decipher. 

What  is  the  nature  or  the  intensity  of  the  sensations 
which  we  suppose  the  foetus  to  experience?  They  are 
probably  sensations  already  localized  and  differentiated,  of 
visceral  comfort  or  discomfort,  muscular,  cutano-thermal, 
tactile,  or  sapid  sensations;  these  latter  less  distinct 
because  they  are  less  varied  than  the  vital  and  muscular 
sensations ;  we  may  even  suppose  that,  in  spite  of  the  im¬ 
perfect  development  of  the  auditoi'y  apparatus,  the  vibra¬ 
tions  of  sound,  transmitted  through  the  abdominal  parti¬ 
tion  or  chamber,  would  produce  on  the  parts  already 
completed  concussions  corresponding  to  a  rudimentary 
and  general  sensation  of  hearing.  From  what  we  have 
been  able  to  gather,  however,  as  to  the  nature  of  these 


4 


THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


hypothetical  sensations,  we  may  infer  that  they  are  not 
very  distinct  or  intense. 

Contemporary  physiology  recognizes  generally  in  sensa¬ 
tion  only  the  result  of  the  modification  of  the  organs 
which  takes  place  in  correspondence  to  each  modification 
of  the  surrounding  medium.  The  intensity  of  sensation 
is  in  direct  ratio  to  the  resistance  offered  by  the  fibres  of 
sensation  to  the  action  of  external  impressions,  It  is  the 
repercussion  of  this  action  on  the  sensorium  which  produces 
sensation.  The  nerve  of  an  adult  is  able  to  bear  greater 
excitation  than  that  of  a  young  child,  and  requires  for  the 
production  of  a  given  sensation  a  minimum  excitation 
stronger  than  the  minimum  excitation  which  would  pro¬ 
duce  the  same  sensation  in  the  case  of  the  child.  But 
the  extreme  adaptivity  of  the  infant  organization  to  its 
surroundings,  and  the  small  resistance  which  it  offers  to 
external  excitation,  renders  the  sensational  susceptibility 
considerably  less  than  at  a  more  advanced  age.  Ex¬ 
tremely  open  to  new  impressions,  children  resist  them  but 
little,  easily  get  accustomed  to  them,  and  also,  for  that 
very  reason,  do  not  feel  them  long.  And  all  this  applies 
still  more  strongly  to  the  foetus.  The  relative  activity  of 
the  visceral  functions,  the  extreme  tactile  sensitiveness  of 
the  skin, — partly  the  result  of  its  yet  imperfect  state, — 
the  already  considerable  development  of  muscular  sensi¬ 
bility,  may  all  cause  the  foetus  to  experience  distinct  and 
acute  sensations,  under  the  influence  of  pressure,  of  heat 
or  cold,  or  of  internal  modifications  of  the  organization. 

What  do  we  know,  however,  concerning  the  degree  of 
actual  vitality  inherent  in  the  organs  and  the  nervous 
centres  at  the  period  of  which  we  are  treating'?  In  a 
word,  does  the  foetus  really  feel  and  receive  the  sensations 
which  we  suppose  it  does? 

Most  physiologists  are,  like  Wirclaow,  of  opinion  that 
the  new-born  child  is  simply  “  a  vertebrate  animal,”  that 
its  unconscious  sensations  are  nothing  more  than  auto¬ 
matic  reflex  actions,  that  its  sensations  and  movements 
have  no  echo  in  the  centres  of  sensational  and  motive 
ideality.  Does  this  mean  that  these  two  encephalic 
centres  are  inactive  in  the  foetus?  Our  scientific  knowl- 


THE  FACULTIES  OF  A  CHILD  BEFORE  BIRTH.  5 


edge  of  the  foetal  brain,  as  far  as  I  know,  can  teach  ns 
nothing  decisive  on  this  point,  and  the  brain  of  the  new¬ 
born  child  is  still  fallow  ground,  if  we  may  judge  from  the 
small  .amount  of  information  to  be  found  on  this  subject 
in  the  most  recent  French  works  on  the  brain  in  general. 
We  quote  from  Dr.  Charlton  Bastian  some  interesting 
passages  on  the  development  of  the  brain  during  foetal 
life 

“  By  the  end  of  the  fifth  month  the  growth  of  the  cere¬ 
bral  hemispheres  has  been  so  great  that  they  completely 
cover  not  only  the  corpora  quadrigemina  but  also  the  now 
larger  cerebellum  .  . 

“  In  the  remaining  important  section  of  intra-uterine 
life,  from  the  sixth  to  the  end  of  the  ninth  month,  the  de¬ 
velopmental  changes  in  the  cerebrum  are  much  more 
marked  than  they  are  in  the  cerebellum.  The  walls  of  the 
cerebral  hemispheres  become  thicker,  and  there  is  a  pro¬ 
portionate  diminution  in  the  capacity  of  the  ‘  lateral  ven¬ 
tricles,’  the  three  ‘horns’  of  which  now  become  quite 
distinct.  The  corpus  callosum  assumes  a  more  horizontal 
direction,  whilst  it  increases  both  in  thickness  and  in 
length.  .  .  .”  “  During  the  sixth  month  a  surprising 

development  of  the  fissures  and  convolutions  takes  place, 
so  that  early  in  the  seventh  month  all  the  principal  of  them 
are  distinctly  traceable.  .  . 

“During  the  attainment  of  this  degree  of  convolutional 
complexity,  some  important  changes  have  been  taking 
place  in  the  relative  development  of  the  different  ‘  lobes  ’ 
of  the  brain.  At  the  seventh  month  the  parietal  lobe 
(which  at  birth  showed  proportionately  fuller  develop¬ 
ment)  is  notably  small,  while  the  frontal  or  temporal  lobes 
are  large.  .  .  .” 

“According  to  S.  Van  der  Kolk  and  Vrolik  it  appears 
that  in  their  relative  proportions,  the  lobes  of  the  brain  in 
a  new-horn  child  hold  just  the  mean  between  those  of  a 
chimpanzee  and  an  adult  man.  In  the  adult  orang,  how¬ 
ever,  the  same  proportion  obtains  between  its  different 
lobes  and  those  of  the  new-born  child.  .  .  .” 

“  In  regard  to  the  microscopical  characters  of  the  foetal 
brain,  one  brief  but  important  statement  deserves  to  he 


6 


THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


recorded.  According  to  Lockhart  Clarke :  ‘  In  the  early 

foetal  brain  of  mammalia  and  man  the  structure  [of  the 
cerebral  convolutions]  consists  of  one  uninterrupted  nu¬ 
cleated  network.  As  development  advances,  separate 
layers  may  he  distinguished.’1  But  even  in  these  layers 
there  are  only  to  he  recognized  ‘  roundish  nuclei  connect¬ 
ed  by  a  network  of  fibres,’  or,  in  other  parts,  groups  of 
more  elongated  nuclei,  in  place  of  the  distinct  hut  differ¬ 
ently  shaped  nerve  cells  with  inter- connecting  processes 
which  are  the  prevailing  and  characteristic  constituents  of 
the  cerebral  convolutions  in  their  developed  condition.”2 

As  far  as  these  superficial  indications  allow  of  any  con¬ 
clusion,  we  see  that  if  the  development  of  the  superior 
hemispheres  appears  to  he  ripe  enough  for  perception, 
emotion,  and  volition,  the  defective  consistence  of  their 
constituent  elements  indicates,  at  least  during  the  uterine 
period,  a  very  limited  functional  power  of  the  psychical 
faculties.  But  it  does  not  follow  from  the  fact  that  the 
development  of  the  cerebellum,  the  organ  of  co-ordinate 
movements,  is  not  so  advanced  as  that  of  the  cerebrum, 
that  the  centres  of  ideality  and  of  motive  volition  have  not 
already  entered  on  their  functions  before  birth. 

Psychologists  ought  then  to  be  very  careful  of  pro¬ 
nouncing  judgment  in  a  matter  where  physiologists  of  the 
highest  authority  are  still  so  much  in  the  dark.  I  may 
add,  that  the  latter  not  being  able  to  subject  new-born  ba¬ 
bies  to  the  murderous  experiments  of  vivisection  under 
anassthetics,  we  have  at  the  present  moment  but  little  to 
expect  from  their  direct  sources  of  information  on  the 
cerebral  functions  of  young  children — d  fortiori  of  the 
foetus.  At  the  most,  as  we  shall  show  further  on,  they 
may  contribute  to  infant  psychology  some  indirect  infor¬ 
mation  from  their  experiments  on  new-born  animals. 
Every  age  has  its  comparative  psychology. 

For  the  present,  however,  we  may  fairly  assume  from 
analogy,  that  a  long  time  before  it  is  born  a  child  will 


1  Notes  of  Research  es  on  the  Intimate  Structure  of  the  Brain.  Pro¬ 
ceedings  of  Royal  Society,  1863,  p.  721 . 

2  Charlton  Bastian,  The  Brain  as  an  Organ  of  Mind  (International 
Scientific  Series),  ch.  xix.,  pp.  341-346. 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  OF  THE  NEW-BORN  CHILD.  7 


have  become  acquainted  both  with  pain  and  pleasure,  in  so 
far,  i.  e.,  as  its  gradually  developing  organs  have  allowed 
the  passage  of  the  impressions  which  normally  produce 
these  sensations.  It  will  also  have  experienced  a  great 
number  of  lesser  sensations,  which,  though  they  may  have 
been  almost  indifferent  to  it,  will  nevertheless  have  had 
some  sort  of  echo  in  its  already  formed  consciousness. 
Most  of  these  sensations,  from  being  produced  without  the 
concurrence  of  the  higher  brain  action,  will  be  confused 
and  indistinct.  Others,  however,  will  be  clearer,  and  re¬ 
sult  in  true  rudimentary  perceptions — -vague  perceptions, 
i.  e.,  and  not  localized,  and  without  any  other  connecting 
link  than  that  obscure  and  innate  sentiment  of  personality 
which  is  buried  hi  I  know  not  what  mysterious  corner  of 
the  enceplialus.  These  perceptions  are,  as  it  were,  inte¬ 
rior  and  subjective.  We  shall  have  occasion  to  return  to 
the  subject  of  perception  during  foetal  life  in  the  chapter 
devoted  to  the  perception  of  the  new-born  child. 

II. 

THE  FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  OF  THE  NEW-BORN  CHILD. 

The  child  has  already  made  acquaintance  with  pain  be¬ 
fore  coming  into  the  world,  and  we  cannot  tell  how  much 
more  the  hard  labor  of  birth  may  have  caused  it  to  suffer. 
There  is  no  doubt,  however,  that  the  moment  when  it  first 
enters  into  relation  with  external  realities  is  a  very  painful 
one.  As  soon  as  its  head  comes  in  contact  with  the  air, 
this  fluid  pours  in  torrents  down  the  delicate  tissues  of  the 
respiratory  organs ;  and  the  progressive  succession  of  move¬ 
ments  of  inspiration  and  expiration,  which  are  the  begin¬ 
ning  of  pulmonary  respiration,  are  not  effected  without 
painful  shocks.  This  is  why  a  new-born  infant  utters 
sounds  similar  to  those  produced  by  suffocation.  It  is 
only  slowly  and  after  several  days’  time,  that  the  little 
being  gets  accustomed  to  the  atmosphere  which  surrounds 
it.  When  it  first  comes  into  the  world,  unfurnished  with 
the  power  of  resistance  which  it  acquires  later,  its  delicate 
skin  is  suddenly  enveloped  in  an  atmosphere  which  is  icy 


S  THE  FIKST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


cold  compared  to  that  which  it  has  just  left.  Cold  is  the 
most  serious  enemy  to  new-horn  children.  We  know  with 
what  care  animals  hasten  to  warm  their  little  ones  with 
the  heat  of  their  own  bodies.  The  first  operation  of  wash¬ 
ing  is  another  source  of  suffering,  for,  whatever  care  be 
taken  and  however  rapidly  it  be  performed,  the  towel  and 
the  sponge,  even  though  of  the  finest  texture,  must  irritate 
the  tender  skin  of  a  new-born  child.  The  freedom  of  move¬ 
ment,  too,  which  its  limbs  have  gained  is  in  itself  a  source 
of  pain,  after  the  soft  pressure  they  have  been  accustomed 
to;  and  the  most  gentle  handling  of  the  nurse  or  mother 
are  torture  to  its  delicate  frame,  still  suffering  from  the 
struggle  of  coming  into  life. 

All  its  senses  are  battered  by  repeated  shocks  of  strange 
impressions,  and  its  wailing  cries  indicate  how  painfully 
these  are  felt.  A  new-born  infant  is  both  deaf  and  blind, 
but  the  rays  of  light  strike  none  the  less  on  its  eyes  with  a 
sense  of  shock,  and  the  waves  of  sound  dash  all  the  same 
against  its  tympanum. 

Can  we  then  wonder  that  the  child’s  entrance  into  life 
should  be  accompanied  by  those  plaintive  cries  so  well 
described  by  the  Latin  poet.  “  A  child  at  its  birth,  like 
a  mariner  cast  ashore  by  the  angry  waves,  lies  prostrate  on 
the  earth,  naked,  speechless,  destitute-  of  all  the  aids  to 
existence,  from  the  moment  when  it  reaches  the  shores  of 
light,  torn  from  its  mother’s  bosom  by  the  efforts  of  nature; 
and  it  fills  the  place  it  has  entered  with  dismal  wailings. 
And  such  distress  is  but  natural!  There  lies  before  him 
to  traverse  a  life  afflicted  with  bitter  woes.”1 

The  child,  however,  has  no  presentiments  of  the  sorrow 
or  the  joy  which  will  make  up  his  longer  or  shorter  career; 
but  the  individual  life  that  has  become  his  is  evidently  a 
cause  of  suffering  to  him.  Like  new-born  animals,  he  is 
restless  and  wailing  under  the  influence  of  all  the  new  im¬ 
pressions  which  irritate  his  keen  susceptibilities;  and  it  is 
strictly  true  that  children  make  acquaintance  with  external 
life  through  suffering.  Their  entrance  into  the  world  is 
as  painful  as  their  exit;  and  this  is  the  reason  why  so  many 


1  Lucretius,  Be  Natura  Rerum,  lib.  v.,  ver.  223,  etc. 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  OF  THE  NEW-BORN  CHILD.  9 


children,  exhausted  by  all  their  efforts  and  sufferings,  fall 
after  birth  into  a  kind  of  corpse-like  rigidity.  A  new-born 
infant  shows  no  immediate  desire  for  food.  This  is  prob¬ 
ably  owing  to  exhaustion  and  the  strong  need  of  sleep,  and 
perhaps  also  to  the  powerful  action  of  the  air,  which  at 
once  begins  to  transform  the  venous  blood  into  arterial 
blood. 

“It  is  not  till  after  several  hours  that  the  need  of  nour¬ 
ishment  first  makes  itself  felt.  The  sensations  of  hunger 
and  thirst,  both  equally  new,  recall  the  child  from  the  ob¬ 
livion  of  sleep,  and  it  awakens  with  a  cry.  Maternal  ten¬ 
derness  responds  instinctively  to  this  appeal,  and  offers  its 
first  gift.  The  child  now  learns  the  delight  of  moistening 
its  lips  with  a  sweet  and  pleasant  liquid,  imbibed  from  the 
breast  on  which  its  head  reposes  so  softly;  and  the  first 
sufferings  experienced  at  its  debut  are  quickly  effaced  by 
this  first  sweet  pleasure.  The  satisfied  child  falls  asleep 
again  on  its  mother’s  bosom,  with  the  feeling  of  comfort 
which  satiety  produces,  and  seems  once  more  to  return  to 
the  isolated  life  which  was  its  normal  condition  in  the 
mother’s  womb,  and  which  its  organism  has  not  yet  lost 
the  habit  of.  It  reawakens  from  this  slumber  every  time 
that  the  need  of  nourishment  returns  to  trouble  its  re¬ 
pose.”  1 

Thus,  though  the  child  thrown  naked  on  the  earth  soon 
finds  there  the  soft  warm  pillow  of  its  mother’s  breast; 
though  nature  herself  manages  for  it  the  transitions  which 
lead  it  gently  up  to  the  complete  possession  of  sight,  hear¬ 
ing,  and  locomotion,  the  struggle  for  existence  begins 
nevertheless  at  birth.  Hunger,  thirst,  cold,  difficulty  of 
respiration  and  of  digestion,  tactile  and  muscular  suffer¬ 
ings,  irritating  impressions  on  the  organs  of  sight  and 
hearing,  all  these  await  its  awakening  from  each  of  its 
deep  slumbers.  And  however  little  conscious  and  vivid 
these  sensations  may  be,  they  none  the  less  affect  the  deli¬ 
cate  and  still  imperfect  organs.  This  accounts  for  the 
great  difficulty  there  sometimes  is  in  rearing  little  children, 
and  the  frequency  of  nervous  or  pectoral  affections  which 


1  Richard  de  Nancy,  Education  Physique  des  Enfants. 


10  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


cany  off  so  great  a  number.  Moreover,  if  it  is  reasonable 
to  judge  of  the  welfare  of  a  child  by  the  strength  of,  and 
the  manner  in  which,  its  various  functions  operate,  we 
may  fairly  attempt  to  determine  the  condition  of  a  new¬ 
born  infant  by  this  one  action  of  feeding.  During  the 
first  few  days  babies  suck  feebly  and  without  energy,  and 
quickly  weary  of  the  process.  At  this  period  they  are  suf¬ 
fering  from  various  operations  of  nature,  and  up  to  the 
third  day  there  is  a  diminution  of  between  three  and  foul- 
ounces  in  their  weight;  and  it  is  not  till  the  sixth  or 
seventh  day  that  they  get  back  to  what  they  were  at  birth. 
Thus  we  conclude  that  a  child’s  general  well-being  corre¬ 
sponds  to  the  degree  of  development  of  its  organs  and 
their  power  of  adaptation  to  their  new  surroundings  and 
conditions. 


CHAPTER  H. 


MOTOR  ACTIVITY  AT  THE  BEGINNING  OF  LIFE. 

As  the  first  manifestations  of  psychic  life  in  a  new-born 
child  are  shown  in  movements  which  are  more  or  less 
automatic,  it  will  he  well  for  us  first  to  study  the  nature 
of  these  movements,  which  in  adults  are  the  expression  of 
psychological  phenomena.  From  the  very  first  days  we 
perceive  in  infants  a  sort  of  motor  activity ,  general  and  in¬ 
definite,  which  is  due  to  external  or  internal  excitations, 
themselves  also  for  the  most  part  vague  and  undefined. 
We  recognize  in  all  this  activity  a  spontaneous  tendency 
of  the  nervous  centre  to  spend  its  superabundant  energies 
in  muscular  force;  but  we  can  also  see  in  some  of  the 
actions  the  expression  of  pre-established  association  be¬ 
tween  certain  movements  and  certain  sensations,  agreeable 
or  otherwise.  For  instance,  the  vague  incoherent  move¬ 
ments  of  the  arms,  legs,  and  facial  muscles,  which  young 
babies  make,  as  if  trying  to  escape  from  the  pressure  of 
their  clothes,  or  struggling  against  some  painful  state  of 
their  system;  the  aimless  movements  which  their  arms 
perform,  striking  right  and  left  without  any  definite  object; 
all  these  belong  to  the  first  class  of  indefinite  reflex 
actions.  From  the  first  also,  the  mouth  will  seize  and 
suck  eagerly  a  finger,  or  anything  else  held  before  it;  the 
fingers  close  mechanically  round  any  object  with  which 
the  palm  is  touched ;  “  Like  the  leaves  and  flowers  of  a 
sensitive  plant  whenever  they  are  touched  by  a  foreign 
substance.”1  The  eyes  blink  uneasily,  as  if  endeavoring 


1  Memoire  de  Tiedemann. 


12  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


to  accustom  themselves  to  the  blinding  light;  if  the  soles 
of  the  feet  are  touched  gently,  or  tickled  with  a  feather, 
instinctive  movements  are  at  once  made  to  draw  away  the 
feet.  All  these  movements,  in  themselves  automatic,  hut 
of  definite  use,  belong  to  the  class  of  general  distinct 
movements.  According  to  Darwin,  one  of  the  first  reflex 
actions  to  be  noticed  in  babies,  and  one  which  appears  at 
first  sight  to  have  nothing  -to  do  with  instinct,  is  the 
sneezing  which  accompanies  the  first  act  of  respiration. 
The  same  applies  to  the  shrill  staccato  screams  which  are 
the  preliminaries  to  the  action  of  crying,  the  pouting  of 
the  lips,  the  wrinkling  of  the  forehead  and  eyebrows,  the 
contraction  of  the  mouth,  by  which  the  lower  lip  is  raised, 
with  a  convulsive  depression  of  the  corners  of  the  mouth, 
and  finally  the  sobs  and  tears  when  the  child  is  old  enough 
to  produce  them.  Darwin  tells  us  that  in  one  of  his  own 
children  he  noticed  a  distinct  sob  at  the  age  of  138  days. 
With  regard  to  the  effusion  of  tears,  his  observations  show 
the  period  of  their  first  appearance  to  be  very  variable. 
He  has  never  seen  them  before  the  twentieth  day;  once  at 
the  sixty-second  day;  two  other  times  at  the  eighty-fourth, 
and  once  not  before  the  hundredth  day.  Laughter,  which 
begins  so  early,  is  manifestly  a  reflex  action.  This  uni¬ 
versal  sign  of  joy  consists  in  the  retraction  of  the  corners 
of  the  mouth,  with  a  slight  separation  of  the  lips ;  and  we 
may  remark  this  slight  expansion  of  the  anterior  muscles 
of  the  face,  this  smiling  countenance,  even  in  the  faces  of 
dogs  and  cats  when  at  play.  Tiedemann  thought  that  he 
noticed  in  his  boy  five  days  after  his  birth  “  the  appearance 
of  laughter  without  any  particular  motive,  thus  most 
probably  without  intention  or  sentiment  of  pleasure,  and 
simply  the  result  of  chance  action  of  the  mechanism.” 
Tiedemann’s  son,  however,  was  altogether  remarkably 
precocious.  I  would  rather  quote  the  authority  of  Darwin 
in  the  case  of  points  which  have  been  scientifically  ob¬ 
served  by  him. 

“  Those  who  have  the  care  of  young  children,”  he  says, 
“  know  very  well  that  it  is  difficult  to  determine  with  cer¬ 
tainty  whether  particular  movements  of  the  mouth  ex¬ 
press  anything,  i.e .,  whether  a  child  is  really  smiling.” 


MOTOR  ACTIVITY  AT  THE  BEGINNING  OF  LIFE.  13 


He  has  scarcely  ever  observed  anything  like  a  real  smile 
before  the  age  of  forty-five  clays;  and  the  broken,  jerky 
sounds  of  genuine  laughter  he  has  never  heard  before  the 
sixty-fifth  day. 

“  In  this  gradual  development  of  the  laughing  powers 
we  find,  up  to  a  certain  point,  an  analogy  with  what  takes 
place  in  the  case  of  tears.  It  seems  that  in  both  cases  a 
certain  amount  of  practice  is  wanted,  just  as  for  the  pro¬ 
duction  of  the  ordinary  movements  of  the  body,  or  in  ac¬ 
quiring  the  power  of  walking.  The  faculty  of  screaming, 
on  the  contrary,  the  use  of  which  is  very  evident,  is  com¬ 
pletely  developed  at  the  outset.”  I  have  seen  smiles  on 
many  infants’  faces  before  they  were  a  month  old.  But 
this  henceforth  reflex  symptom  of  joy  must  not  be  con¬ 
founded  with  certain  spasmodic  and  jerky  twitcliings  of 
the  lips  which  acute  pain  produces  in  infants  as  well  as  in 
grown-up  people.  All  the  children  of  two  months  old 
that  I  have  observed  have  laughed  genuinely  if  they  were 
tickled,  or  if  anything  pleased  them ;  and  their  laughter 
has  been  more  or  less  easy  and  distinct  according  to  their 
organization.  But  they  were  not  themselves  aware  that 
their  smiles  or  laughter  expressed  anything,  and  I  have 
seen  very  few  infants  at  this  age  respond  with  a  smile  to 
their  mother’s  smile.  An  appeal  of  a  more  physical  nat¬ 
ure  is  needed  at  this  period,  an  appeal  of  the  voice  or  a 
sensation  of  physical  pleasure.  Or  if  ever  they  smiled 
consciously  without  any  apparent  stimulus  of  this  kind, 
the  intention  was  probably  a  very  feeble  one. 

People  who  have  to  do  with  young  babies  know  how, 
even  before  the  age  of  two  months,  they  delight  in  moving 
their  arms  and  legs  about  in  their  cradles.  While  waiting 
for  the  power  of  locomotion  to  develop,  the  tendency  to 
motion  vents  itself  in  incessant  exercise  of  the  limbs. 
And  these  movements,  for  the  most  part  vague  and  indefi¬ 
nite,  are  accompanied  by  “sounds,  simple  and  inarticulate 
it  is  true,  but  full  of  variety”  (Tiedemann).  Nothing 
shows  more  clearly  the  intimate  relation  between  the 
motive  centres  of  the  limbs  and  the  centres  of  articulation, 
than  this  necessity,  both  for  children  and  animals,  of  asso¬ 
ciating  sounds  with  movements.  M.  Taine  gives  an  in- 


14  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


stance  of  this  in  a  little  girl  on  whom  he  made  observations : 
“Towards  the  age  of  three-and-a-half  months  she  used  to 
he  laid  out  on  a  rug  in  the  garden,  and  there,  lying  either 
on  her  back  or  her  stomach,  she  would  fling  her  four  limbs 
about  for  hours  together,  uttering  at  the  same  time  all 
sorts  of  varying  cries  and  exclamations ;  nothing  but  vowel 
sounds  however,  no  consonants ;  this  went  on  for  several 
months.”  But  sounds,  either  articulate  or  inarticulate, 
are  of  no  great  importance  as  far  as  psychology  is  con¬ 
cerned,  since  the  acquired  language  of  gestures  and  words, 
as  soon  as  children  understand  their  expressive  value,  ren¬ 
der  these  early  utterances  useless.  It  would  he  very 
interesting,  however,  to  study  them  in  the  case  of  children 
placed,  if  such  a  thing  were  possible,  in  such  a  situation 
that  they  would  have  to  re-invent  their  language,  without 
other  help  than  the  gestures  of  their  teachers.  The  experi¬ 
ment  may  possibly  be  made  some  day. 

But  to  return  to  the  study  of  movements,  so  interesting  to 
the  psychologist,  because  they  are  most  often  the  expres¬ 
sion  of  mental  phenomena,  which  in  their  turn  they  again 
produce.1  Movements  that  are  very  frequent  with  children 
hardly  a  month  old,  are  those  which  they  make  when  they 
are  held  up,  with  both  arms  or  with  only  one,  with  a  slight 
impulsion  up  and  down,  without  apparent  purpose  and  in  a 
more  or  less  marked  manner,  accompanying  the  movement 
with  little  clutcliings  of  the  fingers.  In  like  manner,  when 
their  legs  are  free,  they  kick  them  up  and  down  with  an 
automatic  regularity  which  reminds  one  of  certain  convuls¬ 
ive  movements  of  adults.  Must  we  not  recognize  in  these 
movements  a  discharge  of  the  surplus  nervous  activity, 
which  neither  has  nor  seeks  any  special  end,  but  which 
nevertheless  has  a  useful  effect  on  the  whole  system  of  vital 
functions?  It  seems  to  me  that  we  may  also  reasonably 
regard  them  as  the  effect  of  latent  tendencies  eager  to 
manifest  themselves  by  specialized  movements;  and  more¬ 
over  the  result  is  facilitated  by  these  movements,  though 
they  may  have  no  definite  aim.  In  fact,  each  nerve  and 
each  muscle  produces  its  own  action,  more  or  less  regular, 


1  See  M.  Uibot,  Revue  Philosophique,  Oct.  1st,  1879. 


MOTOR  ACTIVITY  AT  THE  BEGINNING  OF  LIFE.  15 


when  its  fibres  and  centres  have  reached  a  sufficient  degree 
of  strength  or  organization;  and  further  exercise,  which  is 
favorable  to  the  general  development  of  the  body,  prepares 
also  the  way  for  powers  latent  in  the  organization,  and 
which  sometimes  burst  quite  suddenly,  or  at  least  without 
apparent  gradation,  into  actuality. 

During  the  first  three  months  the  movements  of  the  head 
from  right  to  left,  or  left  to  right,  or  up  and  down,  which 
continue  for  some  time  to  be  so  uncertain  and  feeble, 
assume  by  degrees  a  more  definite  character.  In  the  case 
of  a  child  of  a  month  and  a  half  only,  I  have  noticed  a 
movement  of  the  head  which  followed  a  look  cast  in  my 
direction,  while  the  ear  was  bent  forward  as  if  listening  to 
me.  I  have  seen  a  child  at  the  age  of  seven  weeks  repeat 
twice  over  a  face  of  disgust  at  the  sight  of  a  dose  of  medi¬ 
cine,  accompanying  the  grimace  with  movements  which 
later  on  will  signify  No,  but  which  at  the  time  were  only 
unconsciously  repellent.  This,  however,  was  a  step  in 
advance :  an  infant  of  eight  days  or  a  month  simply  makes 
a  face,  without  any  accompanying  movement,  to  reject 
anything  that  is  disagreeable  to  its  taste.  As  for  the  move¬ 
ments  of  the  eyes  which  Tiedemann  has  observed,  and 
which  often  occur  the  second  day  after  birth,  they  can  only 
be  considered  as  purely  reflex  actions,  even  at  the  age  of 
three  weeks  or  a  month,  since,  as  I  have  already  said, 
children  are  blind  during  a  period  the  length  of  which  it 
is  impossible  to  determine.  It  may  be,  however,  that  the 
vibrations  of  light  excite  their  eyes  to  automatic  move¬ 
ments  which  seem,  by  chance,  to  be  following  some  object. 
These  movements  are  perhaps  a  necessary  stepping-stone 
to  sight,  for  everything  tends  to  the  belief  in  a  vague  cor¬ 
respondence  between  light  and  the  tissues  intended  for 
vision,  since  a  like  correspondence  is  found  where  there 
is  little  or  no  visual  organ. 

“The  rudimentary  eye,  consisting,  as  in  a  Planaria,  of 
some  pigment  grains,  may  be  considered  as  simply  a  part 
of  the  surface  more  irritable  by  light  than  the  rest.”1 

A  fortiori  may  this  be  the  case  with  young  babies,  who 


1  Herbert  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  p.  314. 


16  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


have  a  special  organ  of  sensibility  to  light.  The  automatic 
movements  of  the  eyes,  which  are  produced  by  mere  irrita¬ 
tion,  without  any  sensation  of  light,  contribute  nevertheless 
to  the  nutrition  of  the  muscular  and  nervous  tissues,  the 
development  of  which  is  indispensable  to  the  production  of 
visual  sensibility.  As  the  development  of  the  muscles,  the 
nerve  centres,  and  the  motor  centres  proceeds,  as  the  sensa¬ 
tions  become  distinct  and  the  judgments  more  extended, 
the  motor  centres  acquire  more  and  more  specialized  powers 
of  adjustment. 

A  child  of  two  months  who  can  distinguish  several  ob¬ 
jects  outside  himself,  and  is  beginning  to  have  a  vague  idea 
of  distances,  not  being  able  to  stretch  out  his  hands  and 
seize  distant  objects,  as  he  does  those  near  to  him,  bends  his 
whole  body  towards  them.  At  this  same  age  children  be¬ 
gin  also  to  have  a  clearer  idea  of  extent,  or  rather  of  local¬ 
ization  relatively  to  the  different  parts  of  their  bodies; 
they  now  only  scratch  themselves  at  intervals.  Before  the 
end  of  the  third  month,  they  begin  to  lift  their  hands  to 
their  faces  oftener  than  before,  and  a  little  later  the  first 
pains  of  teething  cause  their  fingers  to  be  incessantly  car¬ 
ried  to  the  mouth.  They  now  use  their  hands  more  and  to 
better  purpose ;  the  flexion  of  the  hand  from  the  wrist  is 
accomplished  perfectly;  the  fingers  have  acquired  more 
regular  and  more  varied  movements,  and  we  notice  efforts 
at  stretching  out  the  arms;  this,  however,  rarely  as  yet. 
A  child  at  this  age  will  also  attempt  movements  of  the 
legs  and  the  thorax  to  balance  himself  in  an  upright  posi¬ 
tion  when  held  up  on  his  feet,  and  will  struggle  with  arms 
and  knees  to  climb  up  to  his  nurse’s  face,  when  she  helps 
him  forward  on  his  feet. 

In  a  word,  he  has  gained  greater  consciousness  and 
mastery  of  his  activity;- it  affords  him  more  pleasure,  and 
this  very  pleasure  excites  him  to  the  use  of  it. 

n. 

MOTOR  ACTIVITY  AT  SIX  MONTHS. 

From  the  fourth  to  the  sixth  month,  progress  is  made  in 
numerous  ways,  but  very  slowly  in  comparison  to  some  of 
the  superior  animals.  The  reason  of  this  is,  that  the 


MOTOR  ACTIVITY  AT  SIX  MONTHS. 


17 


more  the  will  is  intended  to  operate  in  the  control  and  co¬ 
ordination  of  the  movements  of  the  body,  the  more  vari¬ 
ous  and  complex  will  be  the  special  locomotive  attainments 
and  the  longer  the  process  of  training.  A  cat  at  a  month 
old,  or  a  dog  at  four  months,  will  better  use  its  paws  for 
standing,  walking,  seizing  or  playing,  than  a  year-old 
child  will  use  its  hands  and  legs  for  the  same  purposes. 
A  kitten,  immediately  after  birth,  can  drag  itself  along  on 
its  stomach,  if  not  walk;  and  its  efforts  and  progress, 
especially  in  locomotion,  may  he  with  interest  compared  to 
the  corresponding  progress  which  takes  place  so  slowly  in 
a  child.1 

It  takes  a  child  two  years  to  accomplish  stages  of  prog¬ 
ress  which  a  kitten  gets  over  in  less  than  a  month.  A 
child  of  six  months,  if  lowered  rapidly  in  its  nurse’s  arms, 
will  scarcely  put  out  his  arms  to  save  himself  from  falling. 
His  triumph  is  in  the  sitting  posture.  Seated  on  the  floor, 
surrounded  with  playthings,  of  which  he  shows  himself  a 
jealous  master,  his  hands,  arms  and  fingers  accomplish 
many  delicate  and  varied  movements  of  which  a  cat  or  a 
dog  of  a  year  old  would  not  he  capable.  His  activity, 
doubled  now  by  curiosity,  and  stimulated  to  the  highest 
pitch  by  emotional  sentiments  of  all  sorts,  makes  him 
happier  and  happier,  and  seems  to  him  so  great  a  neces¬ 
sity,  that  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  relative  inactivity  weighs 
on  him  as  much  as  a  whole  day  of  ennui  on  a  grown-up 
person. 

At  this  period  a  child  gets  an  immense  amount  of 
pleasurable  sensation  of  all  kinds,  muscular,  intellectual, 
and  moral,  from  its  first  attempts  at  walking  and  talking 
and  imitating  all  the  different  gestures  of  the  people 
around ;  and  all  these  progressive  steps  are  so  much  the 
more  keenly  relished  by  its  sensitive  personality  that  they 
are  not  the  result  of  so  many  conscious  efforts  or  of  gradual 
and  intentional  evolution,  hut  more  often  come  quite  sud¬ 
denly  into  operation,  according  as  the  development  of 
the  different  organs  which  produce  them  proceeds.  The 


1  See  Mes  Deux  Chats,  Fragment  de  Psychologic  Comparee,  broch. 
in-12,  cliez  Gemier  Bailere,  1881. 

3 


18  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


sudden  apparition  ol'  these  forces,  of  which  possibly  a 
vague  presentiment  may  have  been  felt  throughout  the 
organism,  but  which  have  not  been  intentionally  called  up, 
affords  the  child  the  constant  delight  of  fresh  surprises. 
They  are  treasures  which  he  wishes  to  share  with  all 
around ;  he  will  repeat,  untiringly,  some  new  movement  of 
which  he  has  just  discovered  in  himself  the  power— a 
special  movement  of  the  hands  or  legs,  for  instance;  and 
he  will  endeavor  to  apply  it  to  any  and  every  purpose,  just 
as  the  first  significant  articulations  which  he  has  learnt  to 
utter  serve  him  for  general  terms  to  designate  objects  which 
perhaps  have  only  a  very  distant  resemblance  to  each  other. 
We  need  scarcely  remind  our  readers  that  with  regard  to 
the  most  important  and  personal  progress  which  goes  on 
in  children,  the  greater  part  is  effected  without  our  con¬ 
currence,  often,  indeed,  in  spite  of  us.  There  is  at  least 
very  little  that  we  can,  or  that  we  know  how  to,  watch 
over  and  direct.  But  nothing  is  more  interesting  than  the 
study  of  those  points  in  which  we  can  to  some  measure 
co-operate. 

We  will  take  the  case  of  a  child  of  ten  months  who  has 
for  some  time  been  learning  to  walk.  His  first  efforts  were 
very  laborious;  although  carefully  held  by  his  frock,  he 
often  failed  in  his  attempts  at  making  steps,  and  more 
than  once  he  rolled  over,  and  the  lesson  ended  with  crying. 
For  a  good  while  he  stuck  at  the  A,  B,  C,  of  the  art,  that 
is  to  say,  at  stamping  up  and  down  in  one  place,  like  a  raw 
recruit  who  is  made  to  stretch  out  first  one  leg  and  then 
the  other.  After  a  time  he  became  a  little  firmer  on  his 
thighs  and  at  last  he  was  able  to  make  seven  or  eight  steps 
without  stumbling.  But  he  still  keeps  his  head  constantly 
turned  towards  the  person  who  is  holding  him  up.  He 
knows  that  it  is  only  thanks  to  this  support  that  he  is  able 
to  keep  upright;  he  remembers  his  numerous  falls,  or  per¬ 
haps,  like  a  cat  set  down  for  the  first  time  on  a  slippery 
floor,  he  has  an  instinctive  feeling  of  the  difficulty  of  the 
enterprise ;  whatever  the  reason,  however,  he  often  exhibits 
fear.  But,  encouraged  by  his  increasing  successes,  he 
finally  forgets  his  apprehensions,  grows  eager  and  inspir¬ 
ited,  and  executes  a  few  well-formed  steps,  more  or  less 


MOTOR  ACTIVITY  AT  TEN  MONTHS.  19 

firmly,  and  with  evident  delight.  I  am  even  inclined  to  be¬ 
lieve  that  something  akin  to  pride, — to  the  exultant  feeling  [ 
of  a  difficulty  conquered, — has  been  awakened  in  him. 
And  this  sentiment  must  be  experienced  in  a  more  or  less 
exaggerated  degree,  for  he  measures  the  importance  of  his 
efforts  by  the  trouble  they  cost  him;  and  the  distance 
traversed  by  his  footsteps  is  estimated  by  comparison  of 
the  surrounding  objects  with  his  own  dimensions. 

The  eminent  philosopher,  Herbert  Spencer,  has  admir¬ 
ably  explained  these  two  psychological  facts.  On  the  one 
hand  he  says:  — 

“  The  sense  of  effort  which  a  child  experiences  in  raising 
a  weight,  greatly  exceeds  in  intensity  the  sense  of  effort  it 
will  experience  in  raising  the  same  weight  by  the  same 
muscles  twenty  years  afterwards.  At  maturity  a  like 
amount  of  sensation  is  the  correlate  of  an  increased  amount 
of  produced  motion.  Similarly  this  relation  varies  quanti¬ 
tatively  as  the  constitutional  state  varies.  After  a  pros¬ 
trating  illness,  the  feeling  of  strain  that  accompanies  the 
raising  of  a  limb,  is  as  great  as  that  which  in  health 
accompanies  a  considerable  feat  of  strength.1 

“  The  dimensions  of  our  bodies  and  the  spaces  moved 
through  by  our  limbs,  serve  us  as  standards  of  comparison 
with  environing  dimensions;  and  conceptions  of  smallness 
or  largeness  result  according  as  these  environing  dimen¬ 
sions  are  much  less  or  much  greater  than  the  organic 
dimensions.  Hence,  the  consciousness  of  a  given  relation 
of  two  positions  in  space,  must  vary  quantitatively  with 
variation  of  bodily  bulk.  Clearly,  a  mouse,  which  has  to 
run  many  times  its  own  length  to  traverse  the  space  which 
a  man  traverses  at  a  stride,  cannot  have  the  same  concep¬ 
tion  of  this  space  as  a  man. 

“  Quantitative  changes  in  these  compound  relations  of 
co-existence  are  traceable  by  each  person  in  his  own  mental 
history,  from  childhood  to  maturity.  Distances  which 
seemed  great  to  the  boy,  seem  moderate  to  the  man ;  and 


1  Herbert  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology ,  p.  204. 


20  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


buildings  once  thought  imposing  in  height  and  mass, 
dwindle  into  insignificance.”1 

It  is  the  same  with  all  the  conscious  efforts  that  a  child 
makes,  and  which  habit  so  quickly  transforms  into  reflex 
actions.  I  suppose  that  the  child  of  whom  I  shall  have 
occasion  to  speak  later  on,  who  seized  hold  of  two  feeding 
bottles  at  once  and  lifted  them  without  help,  thought  he 
was  lifting  two  objects  of  enormous  weight.  In  like  man¬ 
ner,  when  at  tliree-and-a-lialf  months  children  begin  to  be 
a  little  less  awkward  in  their  way  of  feeling  and  ’holding 
things,  it  is  evident  that  joy  in  overcoming  difficulties  is 
combined  with  the  pleasure  they  experience  in  touching 
and  handling.  At  this  age  the  mere  fact  of  holding  in  the 
hands  a  coveted  piece  of  paper,  of  hearing  it  crackle  in 
the  fingers,  seems  a  wonderful  feat.  But  one  of  the  tri¬ 
umphs  that  a  child  enjoys  the  most  keenly,  is  when  he  is 
first  able,  however  faintly,  to  imitate  some  of  the  words 
which  his  attendants  have  repeated  to  him  with  so  much 
patience,  and  which,  owing  to  the  quick  impressionability 
of  his  brain,  had  been  promptly  fixed  in  the  memory,  but 
which  the  rebellious  vocal  organs  had  long  refused  to  utter. 
And  when  at  last  he  succeeds  in  pronouncing  them,  how¬ 
ever  badly,  he  makes  up  for  lost  time,  and  seems  to  de¬ 
light  in  deafening  himself  incessantly  with  the  repetition 
of  these  sounds. 

III. 

MOTOR  ACTIVITY  AT  FIFTEEN  MONTHS. 

At  a  year  old,  children  begin  to  toddle  a  few  steps  by- 
themselves,  letting  themselves  go  from  one  person  to  an¬ 
other;  they  are  now  no  longer  so  much  afraid  of  falls  which 
they  can  ward  off  by  reaching  out  their  hands  to  the  floor; 
they  take  kindly,  moreover,  to  the  rule  of  quadruped,  which 
they  find  very  convenient.  It  is  curious  to  watch  them  at 
this  age,  leaning  with  their  stomachs  against  chairs  or 
benches,  as  they  will  for  half-an-hour  at  a  time,  arranging 
and  disarranging  their  toys;  spreading  out  little  mimic 
feasts,  with  any  scraps  they  can  get  hold  of;  playing  with 


■Herbert  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  p.  213. 


MOTOR  ACTIVITY  AT  FIFTEEN  MONTHS. 


21 


tlie  cat  or  the  dog,  who  give  themselves  up  most  amiably 
to  being  tortured ;  then  suddenly  turning  round  to  any  one 
present;  stretching  out  tneir  arms  with  earnest  pantomime, 
if  the  person  moves  away  or  refuses  them  what  they  pointed 
to;  turning  this  way  and  that,  as  their  mobile  impressions 
prompt  them;  creeping  carefully  round  a  chair  or  table, 
clinging  on  to  it  all  the  time,  stooping  down  with  the  same 
precaution  in  order  to  sit  on  the  ground,  and  then  lifting 
themselves  up  again  with  a  little  more  difficulty — in  short, 
learning  to  trust  to  their  own  resources,  and  now  almost 
able  to  stand  upright  and  move  about  at  will,  with  very 
little  help  from  grown-up  people. 

Towards  the  age  of  fifteen  months  children  will  execute 
with  a  skill  and  precision  comparatively  great,  a  number  of 
movements  which  they  have  either  just  acquired  or  have 
been  gradually  bringing  to  perfection.  A  few  instances 
that  I  shall  cite  will  give  an  idea  of  the  enormous  progress 
accomplished  by  this  time.  The  head  can  now  be  raised 
or  lowered,  turned  to  right  or  left,  held  immovable  by  the 
tension  of  the  neck,  shaken  to  signify  No,  nodded  up  and 
down  for  Yes,  tossed  about  with  joy,  or,  at  some  outburst 
of  tenderness,  sunk  in  the  shoulders,  or  hidden  playfully 
hi  the  hands. 

The  ear  and  the  eye  have  become  accommodated  to  dis¬ 
tances;  the  ear  is  now  always  promptly  turned  towards 
the  point  whence  a  sound  is  heard  to  come;  it  can  also 
hear  more  sounds,  and  has  even  the  power  of  choosing 
what  it  will  listen  to,  and  of  shutting  itself  against  sounds 
which  are  displeasing  to  it;  it  has  further  learnt  to  dis¬ 
tinguish  many  creatures  and  objects  by  the  different  sounds 
they  produce.  The  eye  has  acquired  a  large  store  of  adap¬ 
tations.  Cheselden’s  blind  youth,  if  such  a  metaphysical 
blind  being  really  existed,  is  already  far  advanced  in  the 
double  and  reciprocal  education  of  sight,  touch,  and  mus¬ 
cle.  This  eye  has  no  longer  the  vacant  expression  of  former 
days;  its  look  seems  sometimes  to  go  through  one;  it 
moves  with  electric  rapidity  in  response  to  all  outward 
impressions,  of  whatever  nature;  it  expresses  with  force 
and  delicacy  all  the  various  shades  of  thought,  sentiment, 


22  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


and  will;  it  is  conscious  of  wliat  it  is  expressing,  and  from 
time  to  time  it  does  so  with  intention. 

There  is  something  grand  and  dignified,  so  to  say,  in  the 
happy  astonishment  called  forth  in  the  eye  by  the  discov¬ 
ery  of  a  new  fact,  and  in  the  confiding  and  steady  attention 
which  it  pays  to  the  slightest  words,  gestures,  or  looks  of 
a  person  who  is  speaking.  Laughter  and  tears,  which 
are  as  frequent  as  a  few  months  since,  are  now  more  often 
and  more  fully  expressive — intentionally  so  also — though 
they  do  not  always  express  the  sentiments,  and  above  all 
the  shades  of  sentiment,  which  they  are  intended  to  do 
later  on. 

As  for  the  hand,  the  human  organ  par  excellence,  the 
stages  of  its  progress  must  of  necessity  escape  the  analysis 
of  an  observer  attempting  to  record  them ;  for  the  move¬ 
ments  which  it  executes,  nearly  all  of  them  complicated, 
and  most  delicately  combined,  are  the  result  of  efforts  and 
acquirements,  and  degrees  of  perfection  which  have  gone 
on  from  hour  to  hour  during  long  months.  At  fifteen 
months  the  hand  can  already  touch  with  more  or  less  cer¬ 
tain  discrimination  and  appreciation;  it  can  sometimes 
measure  the  effort  required  by  the  nature  of  the  difficulty, 
either  known  or  inferred;  the  fingers,  always  in  motion, 
often  double  themselves  up  to  distinguish  the  roughness  or 
smoothness  of  objects,  or  to  find  out  whether  they  are  hot 
by  skimming  the  surface.  The  fist  no  longer  closes  with 
automatic  indifference;  it  now  expresses  anger,  shows  an 
intention  to  strike,  beat,  or  thump.  The  first  finger 
often  starts  out  by  itself,  and  is  stretched  forward  to  point 
out  or  name  objects;  or  the  fingers  will  open  out  and  the 
hand  be  waved  gracefully  to  make  a  salute,  or  energetic¬ 
ally  to  repulse  anything  that  annoys.  In  short,  the  hand 
can  now  hold,  lift  up,  and  carry  weights  adapted  to  the 
strength  and  necessities  of  the  child;  it  is  master  of  the 
playthings  which  are  its  owner’s  treasure,  and,  what  is 
neither  the  easiest  nor  the  least  valuable  step  in  advance, 
it  can  carry  a  spoon  and  glass  more  or  less  skillfully  to  its 
mouth. 


CHAPTER  HI. 


INSTRUCTIVE  AND  EMOTIONAL  SENSATIONS. 

Sensations  may  be  studied  from  three  points  of  view, — 
the  perceptive,  the  emotional,  and  the  instinctive;  that  is 
to  say,  in  the  perception  and  ideas  which  they  leave  behind 
them,  in  the  pleasant  or  painful  emotions  which  they  oc¬ 
casion,  and  in  the  tendencies  or  inclinations  which  they 
engender.  We  will  begin  by  showing  the  order  of  the 
natural  development  of  perceptions  in  a  child,  as  far,  that 
is,  as  it  is  possible  to  observe  or  to  infer  it. 

“The  mind  of  man,”  says  Bacon,  “must  work  upon 
stuff.”  Sensations  are  the  primary  matter  of  the  mind, 
the  determining  cause  of  our  ideas.  But  we  cannot  affirm 
on  the  evidence  of  facts  that  intellectual  operations  are, 
like  ideas,  engendered  by  the  medium  of  sensation.  If  we 
regard  sensations  as  a  particular  state  of  the  sensory  cen¬ 
tres,  ideas  as  special  modifications  of  the  intellectual  center, 
and  the  various  operations  as  special  dispositions  of  the 
spiritual  organs,  the  one  and  the  other  tending  from  habit 
and  practice  to  reproduce  themselves,  and  to  excite  each 
other  mutually,  it  remains  to  be  proved,  with  the  help  of 
the  scalpel  and  the  microscope,  that  the  transformation, 
for  instance,  of  the  idea  into  attention,  produces  a  new  and 
persistent  disposition  of  molecules  in  the  tissues  and  cells 
of  the  brain.  No  observations  of  this  nature  have  yet 
been  made.  But  there  is  no  longer  any  doubt  in  the  minds 
of  anatomists  and  physiologists,  that  the  play  of  our  fac¬ 
ulties  is  intimately  connected  with  the  perfection  of  the 
instrument.  “  Not  only  does  the  slightest  pathological 


24  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


modification  affect  the  whole  of  the  cerebral  functions,  but 
we  find  these  functions  increase  as  age  multiplies  the  cer¬ 
ebral  fibres  and  cells,  or  complicates  their  relations  to  each 
other.  Science  has  not  yet  arrived  at  specifying  the 
functions  of  each  fibre  in  this  wonderful  labyrinth ;  they 
count  by  thousands ;  most  of  them  measure  less  than  the 
thousandth  part  of  a  millimetre,  some  of  them  even 
can  scarcely  be  seen  through  the  best  microscopes.”1  It 
is  the  condition  of  this  instrument  in  the  new-born  child 
that  we  want  to  understand. 

Comparative  psychology  and  physiology,  as  I  have 
already  said,  can  hardly  give  us  any  information  concern¬ 
ing  the  state  of  the  centres  of  perception  during  the  first 
period  of  life.  Brain  anatomists,  however,  foresee  the 
moment  when  experiment  may  open  this  vast  field  to 
human  thought.  “It  would  be  extremely  interesting,” 
says  Ferrier,  “  to  ascertain  whether,  in  an  individual  born 
blind,  the  sight  centre  presents  any  peculiarities,  either  as 
regards  the  form  of  the  cells  or  their  processes,  or  other¬ 
wise,  differing  from  those  of  the  normal  brain.  If  such 
were  detectable,  we  should  come  near  arriving  at  the  char¬ 
acter  of  the  physical  basis  of  an  idea.” 2  Dr.  Tarchanoff 
has  made  some  experiments  on  the  nerve  centres,  and 
especially  on  the  psychomotor  centres  of  new-born  animals, 
and  their  development  under  different  conditions,  the 
interesting  results  of  which  I  will  give  here  in  his  own 
words:  “In  a  new-born  rabbit  the  auditory  passage  of  the 
ear  is  closed,  and  does  not  begin  to  open  till  the  fifth  day 
after  birth,  when  it  has  the  appearance  of  a  very  fine  slit. 
The  first  sign  of  a  slit  between  the  eyelids  appears  towards 
the  tenth  or  eleventh  day;  and  towards  the  twelfth  day,  in 
most  cases,  the  eyes  are  quite  open.  The  psychomotor 
centres  generally  make  their  appearance  towards  the  twelfth 
or  thirteenth  day.  It  is  the  motor  centres  of  the  jaw — the 
centres  of  mastication — which  develop  first  on  the  grey 
cortex  of  the  brain.  After  these,  the  motor  centres  of  the 


1  G.  Pouchet,  Analyse  du  Livre  de  M.  Ribot  sur  l'  Iferedite,  dans  le 
Journal  Le  Siecle,  juin,  1873. 

2  David  Ferrier,  The  Functions  of  the  Brain,  p.  260. 


IN STKUCTIVE  AND  EMOTIONAL  SENSATIONS.  25 


anterior  paws  appear,  and  three  or  four  days  later,  those 
of  the  posterior  limbs.  By  the  sixteenth  day,  all  the 
psycho-motor  centres  of  the  rabbit  are  fully  developed.  An 
almost  identical  order  of  development  of  the  psycho-motor 
centres  has  been  described  by  Saltman  in  the  dog.” 

What  knowledge  have  we  of  the  condition  of  the  seat  of 
perception  or  ideation,  whether  visual,  auditory,  or  even 
motor,  in  new-born  infants?  Almost  none.  In  the  first 
place,  as  far  as  vision  is  concerned,  although  the  constit¬ 
uent  parts  of  the  ocular  apparatus  may  be  sufficiently  de¬ 
veloped,  and  though  the  child  sometimes  shuts  its  eyes 
under  the  action  of  a  bright  light,  as  it  is  continually 
shutting  them,  it  is  difficult  to  draw  any  inferences  from 
this  as  regards  sight.  During  the  first  days  of  existence, 
the  immobility  of  the  pupils  and  of  the  iris  appears  to  indi¬ 
cate  insensibility  of  the  retina  to  light.  It  is  however 
probable  that  it  soon  begins  to  distinguish  feebly  between 
day  and  night.  This  stage  is  generally  reached  by  the  end 
of  the  first  week.  A  few  days  after,  the  eyes  begin  to 
follow  the  direction  of  light,  and  of  candles.  But,  except 
when  the  child  is  sucking,  the  eyes  continually  wander; 
they  do  not  fix  themselves  on  any  objects  or  follow  their 
movements,  which  is  a  proof  that  they  do  not  distinguish 
them  better  than  at  the  moment  of  birth.  They  do  not 
begin  to  distinguish  objects  till  the  end  of  the  fourth  week, 
and  then  still  very  confusedly. 

We  know  that  new-born  babies  are  deaf,  the  external 
auditory  passage  being  closed,  and  the  cavity  of  the  tym¬ 
panum  containing  too  little  air.  But  we  are  ignorant  as 
to  whether  they  arrive  at  the  faculty  of  hearing  by  inter¬ 
mediate  degrees,  or  by  a  sudden  bound,  their  auditory 
apparatus  becoming  all  at  once  sufficiently  developed  to 
fulfill  its  functions.  It  is  easy,  however,  to  observe  during 
the  first  fortnight  a  very  great  susceptibility  to  the  slightest 
sound  of  any  kind.  A  baby  shudders  and  blinks  its  eyes 
when  it  hears  any  sudden  noise,  a  door  being  closed,  apiece 
of  furniture  moved,  the  rolling  of  a  carriage,  a  sneeze,  a 
burst  of  laughter,  a  scream,  or  a  loud  song. 

As  regards  muscular  perceptions,  which,  as  we  have  said, 
are  no  doubt  faintly  begun  in  the  foetus,  their  progress  in 


26  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


number  and  differentiation  is  very  limited  during  tlie  first 
month.  Muscular  perceptions,  being  connected  with 
motivity,  are  still  very  rudimentary  at  this  period;  but  this 
does  not  apply  to  the  other  muscular  sensations,  or  to 
cutaneous  sensations.  Young  infants,  being  continually 
subject  to  new  sensations  of  contact,  pressure,  and  tern- 
perature,  are  able  to  retain  and  develop  sufficient  percep¬ 
tions,  by  the  laws  of  integration  and  differentiation,  for 
the  faculty  of  localizing  sensations  from  external  causes 
in  the  different  parts  of  the  body  to  have  made  some  prog¬ 
ress  at  an  early  period.  But  what  point  has  been  reached 
by  the  second  month  in  the  knowledge  of  external  objects? 
And,  first  of  all,  how  does  a  child  see  them  at  this  age? 

It  would  be  well,  perhaps,  to  ask  oneself  whether  a 
little  baby  a  month,  or  even  two  months,  old  sees  all  the 
objects  situated  in  the  field  of  vision.  Is  there  for  the 
individual  also  a  progressive  evolution  of  the  sense  of 
color,  as  Gladstone  and  Magnus  assert  that  there  is 
for  the  race?  According  to  their  theory,  the  sense  of 
color  has  only  been  developed  in  man  since  the  heroic 
ages,  i.e.,  about  3,000  years.  The  ancients  before  Homer’s 
time  only  distinguished  light  as  brightness  and  color. 
As  the  education  of  the  organ  progressed,  three  principal 
colors  seem  to  have  been  apprehended  by  it,  and  in  the 
order  of  greater  or  less  refrangibility,  viz. ,  red,  green  and 
violet.  In  the  second  phase  of  development,  the  sense  of 
color  becomes  quite  distinct  from  the  sense  of  light.  Red 
and  yellow,  with  their  various  shades,  including  orange, 
are  now  clearly  distinguished.  The  characteristic  of  the 
third  period  is  the  power  of  distinguishing  colors  which, 
as  regards  brilliancy,  belong  to  neither  extreme  but  are, 
on  the  whole,  varieties  of  green.  Finally,  in  the  fourth 
period,  man  begins  to  distinguish  blue.  This  phase  is  still 
going  on,  and  with  regard  to  some  portions  of  humanity  is 
not  yet  far  advanced ;  we  ourselves,  indeed,  easily  confuse 
blue  and  green  by  candle-light.1  M.  G.  Atlen,  as  the  advo¬ 
cate  of  evolution  pure  and  simple,  has  undertaken  the  refu- 


1  See  the  interestinc  review  of  M.  G.  Atlen’s  book  by  M.  A.  Espinas, 
Revue  Philo sophique,  Jan.,  1880. 


INSTRUCTIVE  AND  EMOTIONAL  SENSATIONS.  27 

tation  of  the  theory  of  historic  evolution ;  but  there  remains 
still  the  ante-historic  question.  The  formation  of  the 
human  visual  organ  as  it  exists  at  the  present  day,  and 
the  development  of  the  sense  of  color,  can  only  he  ex¬ 
plained  by  hereditary  transmission.  Our  more  immediate 
ancestors  of  the  pre-liistoric  age,  did  they  see  the  same 
colors  that  we  do?  Do  children  see  colors  in  the  same 
way  as  we  ourselves?  Certain  pathological  facts  engen¬ 
dering  optical  illusions,  and  in  particular,  Daltonism, 
which  is  so  frequent  in  adults,  might  lead  us  to  suppose, 
considering  the  incompleteness  of  the  visual  organ  and 
the  optic  centres  in  new-horn  children,  that  they  do  not 
see  all  colors  at  the  beginning  of  life,  that  the  sense  of 
certain  colors  is  perhaps  wanting  in  them  at  first,  and  that 
these  deficiencies  in  sight  vary  with  different  individuals, 
and  in  each  individual  according  to  the  physiological 
state  of  the  organs,  and  even  according  to  the  day  and 
the  hour. 

But  what  data  have  we  for  establishing  this  hypothesis? 
I  believe,  moreover,  that  the  value  of  chromatic  distinc¬ 
tion  is  of  little  importance  to  the  question  in  point.  The 
non-distinction  of  color  does  not  necessarily  imply  the 
non-perception  of  light;  and  it  is  by  their  degrees  of 
light  and  shade,  by  the  greater  or  less  intensity  of  the 
impressions  they  produce,  that  a  child  distinguishes 
objects. 

It  is  probable  that  the  field  of  vision  only  opens  out 
gradually  to  a  child,  and  that  the  different  parts  of  it  are 
only  apprehended  by  him  according  to  the  degree  of 
intensity  of  their  light  or  coloring.  We  should  form  a 
wrong  idea  of  the  first  perceptions  of  children  if  we 
suppose  them  to  be  like  Cheselden’s  blind  youth,  to  whom 
different  objects  placed  before  his  eyes  seemed  only  a  mass 
of  colors  spread  over  a  plane  surface.  Binocular  vision, 
as  soon  as  it  operates  with  regularity  of  adjustment,  pro¬ 
duces  the  perception  of  colored  space  in  two  dimensions, 
and  suggests  the  idea  of  the  third  dimension.  This 
power  is  increased  in  the  child  by  the  simultaneous  seeing 
and  touching  of  things  brought  near  to  it,  but  the  progress 
is  very  slow  up  to  the  age  of  six  weeks.  Towards  the 


28  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


end  of  the  second  month,  however,  a  marked  improve¬ 
ment  begins.  First,  the  child  pays  a  little  more  attention 
to  the  impressions  which  come  to  him.  His  tactile  and 
muscular  functions  (the  latter  especially)  proceeding  from 
centres  more  fully  developed,  bring  their  contingent  of 
perceptions  indispensable  to  those  of  sight.  The  eye, 
moreover,  has  grown  more  mobile,  its  muscles  are 
stronger  and  it  opens  wider,  thus  not  only  giving  an 
enlarged  field  of  vision,  but  also  allowing  the  formation 
of  ideas  of  localization,  relief,  and  distance. 

That  all  these  ideas  are  still  very  confused  in  the  brain 
of  an  infant  of  two  months,  is,  however,  a  matter  of 
course;  but  it  will  already  have  had  a  great  number  of 
those  muscular  experiences  on  which  the  formation  of  all 
ideas  of  outside  things,  and,  above  all,  the  distinction 
between  the  external  and  the  internal  depends.  Just  as 
by  the  distinction  between  his  own  cries  and  the  voices  of 
others,  a  child  at  once  conceives  as  distinct  from  himself 
other  beings  capable  of  making  themselves  heard  like 
himself,  so  the  muscular  sensations  produced  by  move¬ 
ments  which  he  makes  himself  are  distinguished  by  him 
from  the  sensations  resulting  from  movements  foreign 
to  himself,  and  this  distinction  is  corroborated  by  the 
concomitant  sensations  of  sight,  which  cause  him  to  see 
foreign  bodies  in  motion.  His  progress  in  mobility  thus 
carries  with  it  progress  in  his  ideas  of  the  separate  exist¬ 
ence  of  things,  as  well  as  their  forms,  their  relations  to 
each  other,  and  their  distances.  By  the  age  of  three 
months  the  mobility  of  his  eyes,  neck,  and  arms  has 
increased,  and  hence  a  quantity  of  muscular  sensations 
combined  with  visual  ones,  which  result  in  a  clearer  dis¬ 
tinction  of  all  the  ideas  of  which  we  are  speaking.  He 
also  begins  now  to  have  the  power  of  discerning, — I  do 
not  say  of  appreciating, — weight,  which  calls  into  play 
the  muscular  sense  of  effort,  and  above  all,  if  we  go 
by  Ferrier,  the  feeling  of  the  contraction  of  the  respiratory 
organs.1 

Mary,  at  the  age  of  three  and  a  half  months,  can  already 


1  Ferrier,  The  Functions  of  the  Brain,  p.  358. 


INSTRUCTIVE  AND  EMOTIONAL  SENSATIONS.  -29 


distinguish  several  parts  of  her  body.  When  her  mother 
says  to  her,  “Where  are  your  feet?  ”  her  eyes  first  of  all 
move  uncertainly  to  right  and  left,  and  then,  bending  her 
neck  forward,  she  directs  them  toward  her  feet.  She 
plays  with  and  fondles  her  mother;  when  her  mother’s 
face  is  bent  over  hers,  she  seizes  it  with  her  little  fat 
hands,  and  touches  and  pats  it  with  an  evident  intention 
of  showing  tenderness.  “  She  chatters  to  the  liowers,”  to 
quote  her  mother’s  words.  She  is  passionately  fond  of 
colors,  especially  very  brilliant  ones.  If  a  colored  picture 
is  shown  her,  she  makes  two  or  three  sudden  starts,  and 
then  holds  her  little  hands  out  eagerly  towards  it,  palpi¬ 
tating  with  desire  or  pleasure,  her  eyes  attentively  fixed, 
her  face  beaming  with  joy,  and  uttering  all  the  time  little 
birdlike  cries.  But  seeing  is  not  enough;  she  soon  wants 
to  handle  the  beautiful  object,  and  seizing  it  with  both 
her  hands  she  crumples  it  up  and  gazes  at  it  admiringly, 
but  without  seeing  any  more  in  it  than  pretty  colors. 
The  word  picture  will  now  make  her  smile  from  associa¬ 
tion  of  ideas  and  feelings.  She  is  very  fond  of  babbling 
to  the  birds,  with  whom  she  is  well  acquainted;  and  she 
not  only  turns  toward  the  cage  when  the  canary  is  sing¬ 
ing,  but  also  when  he  is  quite  quiet,  if  her  mother  says  to 
to  her,  “Where  is  Coco?  Listen  to  Coco.” 

She  understands,  from  the  expression  of  the  face  and 
the  tone  of  the  voice,  when  she  is  being  scolded,  and  then 
she  wrinkles  up  her  forehead,  her  lips  twitch  convulsively 
and  pout  for  two  or  three  seconds,  her  eyes  fill  with  tears, 
and  she  is  on  the  point  of  sobbing.  She  is  very  sensitive  to 
caresses,  and  laughs  and  plays  with  every  one  who  laughs 
and  plays  with  her.  But  she  is  jealous  in  the  extreme. 
If  her  elder  sister  is  placed  beside  her  on  her  mother’s 
lap,  and  the  mother  kisses  the  sister,  quite  a  tragic  scene 
ensues ;  for  a  few  seconds  she  remains  still  with  her  eyes 
fixed,  then  her  mouth  begins  to  twitch,  her  eyes  fill  with 
tears.  She  becomes  convulsed  with  sobs,  she  turns  away 
her  head  so  as  not  to  see  her  rival,  and  presents  for  some 
minutes  the  picture  of  misery.  She  behaves  precisely  in 
the  same  manner  if  her  mother  gives  her  sister  the  feed¬ 
ing-bottle,  ok  if  the  latter  takes  it  up  from  the  table;  but 


30  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

when  the  mother  takes  the  bottle  herself  and  pretends  to 
suck  from  it,  she  instantly  recovers  her  serenity;  it  seems 
as  if  she  had  no  sense  of  egotism  in  her  relations  with  her 
mother. 

Let  us  take  another  child  of  different  sex  and  tempera¬ 
ment.  Georgie  is  seven  months  old.  He  has  hardly 
entered  my  room  when  his  attention  is  vividly  excited  by 
the  noisy  movements  of  a  sparrow  hopping  up  and  down 
in  its  cage  close  to  the  window.  Then  he  fixes  his  eyes 
steadily  for  the  space  of  three  minutes  on  a  cat  lying 
cuddled  up  at  the  foot  of  an  arm-chair:  he  has  often  seen 
cats  before. 

But  the  sparrow  sings  a  few  notes,  and  Georgie  looks 
round  on  all  sides,  not  knowing  whence  the  pleasant 
sounds  proceed.  I  call  him  by  his  name,  Georgie;  and 
though  he  has  never  heard  my  voice  before,  he  smiles  at 
me  most  sweetly.  The  next  thing  that  attracts  his  atten¬ 
tion  is  a  bunch  of  flowers  which  I  placed  on  a  table  near 
him.  He  stretches  out  his  arms  toward  these,  and  evi¬ 
dently  derives  great  pleasure  from  looking  at  them;  but 
his  delight  does  not  manifest  itself  in  those  bounds  and 
cries  and  outbursts  of  joy  which  I  have  already  noticed  in 
little  Mary  and  many  other  children  of  the  same  age 
(three-and-a-half  months)  under  similar  circumstances. 
Georgie  is  a  big,  fat  boy  of  Alsatian  parentage,  chubby- 
faced,  grave,  slow,  and  obstinate;  while  Mary,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  a  pale,  slender,  animated,  sparkling  little 
Parisian.  Ten  days  after  his  first  visit  to  me,  Georgie 
was  brought  into  my  room  for  a  second  “  sitting.  ”  This 
time  he  amused  himself  with  making  jumps  at  my  cat. 
When  tired  of  this  game  he  stretched  himself  forward  to 
seize  a  plate  which  stands  in  the  middle  of  the  table ;  I 
allowed  him  to  reach  across  the  table  and  to  touch  the 
plate;  he  handled  it  with  evident  gestures  of  pleasure,  and 
liis  face  also  expressed  extreme  delight.  After  a  while  (I 
supporting  three-fourtlis  of  the  weight)  he  carried  it  to  his 
mouth,  as  he  does  with  all  objects  he  gets  hold  of.  His 
grandmother  has  brought  him  up  with  a  bottle.  I  have 
noticed  in  this  child,  as  in  many  others,  a  quite  peculiar 
tenderness  for  his  grandmother,  who  has  been  his  nurse. 


INSTRUCTIVE  AND  EMOTIONAL  SENSATIONS.  31 


The  instant  he  has  got  hold  of  a  desired  object,  and  when¬ 
ever  he  experiences  any  pleasure  which  is  not  connected 
with  eating,  he  turns  smilingly  toward  her,  as  if  his  joy 
were  not  complete  till  he  had  shared  it  with  her.  Or 
must  we  see  in  this  nothing  more  than  a  mechanical  habit, 
the  child  having  never  experienced  any  joy  without  his 
grandmother  being  at  hand  to  take  part  in  it? 

Thus  in  children  of  three-and-a-half  and  seven  months  we 
find  the  power  of  distinguishing  a  large  number  of  essential 
ideas.  They  can  distinguish  themselves  from  their  mother, 
their  grandmother,  their  sister,  myself,  a  bird,  a  cage,  a  cat, 
table,  a  plate,  etc.  But  even  at  seven  months  they  see 
prominent  details  better  than  whole  objects;  they  see  them 
by  a  kind  of  process  of  imaginative  abstraction,  by  means 
of  which  external  perceptions  come  to  them  as  scraps  of 
color.  They  have  only  an  imperfect  appreciation  of  dis¬ 
tance  and  weight;  an  object  a  little  way  off  must  be  very 
bright  or  very  sonorous,  for  their  curiosity,  even  when 
excited  by  craving,  to  fasten  upon  it. 

They  try  to  seize  objects  before  they  are  within  their 
reach ;  they  will  put  out  a  whole  hand  and  all  their  strength 
to  take  up  a  bit  of  colored  paper,  as  if  it  were  a  compact 
and  heavy  substance.  At  three  months  a  child  can  distin¬ 
guish  his  feeding-bottle  by  its  form  and  color;  but  so 
little  does  he  compare,  that  he  will  seize  an  empty  or  a 
full  bottle  with  equal  eagerness.  At  seven  months  he 
compares  better  than  at  three ;  and  he  appears  at  this  age 
to  have  visual  perceptions  associated  with  ideas  of  kind; 
for  instance,  he  connects  the  different  flavors  of  a  piece  of 
bread,  of  a  cake,  of  fruit,  with  their  different  forms  and 
colors.  At  one  or  two  years  old,  when  his  curiosity  has 
been  developed  by  exercise  by  the  continual  supply  of 
fresh  emotions,  by  the  growth  of  his  muscular  forces,  and 
above  all  of  his  mobile  and  locomotive  faculties,  his  power 
of  comparison  is  very  much  greater.  All  his  ideas  of  sit¬ 
uation,  of  figure,  of  relief,  of  distance,  and  of  weight  have 
now  reached  such  a  pitch  of  perfection  that  in  many  cases 
they  are  nearly  equal  to  those  of  an  adult.  But  many 
are  the  illusions  he  will  suffer,  sometimes  consciously, 
from  these  perceptions,  which  bring  into  conflict  the  actual 


32  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


sensations  of  sight  and  the  judgment  acquired  from  out¬ 
side.  Countless  experiences,  countless  errors,  deceptions 
vividly  felt,  will  have  to  be  gone  through  before  the  child 
can  arrive  at  the  summary  knowledge  of  the  external 
world,  such  as  it  appears  to  the  eye  of  an  adult.  This 
knowledge,  in  point  of  fact,  has  no  limits;  or  rather,  its 
limits  are  forever  receding  before  science. 

II. 

THE  FIRST  PERCEPTIONS. 

The  Sensations  of  Taste. — The  first  manifestations  of 
pleasure  in  little  children  are  connected  with  the  sense  of 
taste.  A  few  hours  after  birth,  hunger  makes  itself  known 
by  the  efforts  of  the  mouth,  as  if  to  seek  its  food,  and  its 
attempts  to  suck  any  object  presented  to  it,  and  by  wail¬ 
ings  accompanied  by  lively  movements  of  the  arms. 
During  the  following  days,  when  the  infant  has  learned  to 
suck,  it  will  remain  glued  to  the  breast,  and,  until  its 
appetite  is  satisfied,  the  strongest  appeal  to  its  attention 
will  not  disturb  it.  There  is  no  doubt,  however,  that 
after  the  child  has  sucked  for  a  few  seconds  it  goes  on 
doing  it  mechanically,  without  any  feeling  of  pleasure  or 
otherwise,  except  at  intervals,  its  organs  being  for  the 
present  incapable  of  feeling  a  sensation  repeated  too  often. 
The  sensation  of  taste  soon  ceases  to  react  on  the  nerves 
subject  to  its  influence,  and  after  a  certain  time  the  inter¬ 
vention  of  a  stronger  excitement  is  needed  to  produce  a 
reaction.  Greediness  then  comes  in  as  a  stimulus  and  in 
a  child  is  as  legitimate  as  it  is  common. 

We  are  at  liberty  to  believe  that  the  sense  of  taste  is 
very  slightly  developed  in  a  child  just  born,  the  indirect 
proof  of  this  being  the  small  necessity  there  is  for  a  child 
to  distinguish  flavors.  But  we  have  more  positive  reasons  , 
also  for  this  assumption;  we  know  that  in  adults  the  sen¬ 
sations  of  taste  are  mixed  up  with  sensations  of  smell 
which  influence  us  in  distinguishing  flavors.  “  If  our 
nostrils  were  closed,”  says  Longet,  “  we  should  not  be 
able  to  distinguish  vanilla  cream  from  coffee  cream,  and 


OLFACTORY  SENSATIONS. 


33 


both  would  only  produce  a  general  sensation  of  softness 
and  sweetness.”  But  also,  as  Brillat-Savarin  lias  told  us, 
“  the  empire  of  flavor  has  its  blind  and  its  deaf,  and 
degrees  of  sapid  sensitiveness,  very  different  in  different 
people,  are  seen  already  at  a  tender  age.”  In  some  cases 
children  of  six  months  have  been  induced  to  take  disagree¬ 
able  medicine  simply  by  a  change  being  made  in  the 
color.  Others  again,  at  an  earlier  age,  will  refuse  to  suck 
from  their  mother,  or  from  particular  nurses,  because  of 
something  unpleasant  either  to  their  sense  of  smell  or 
taste.  Some  children  are.  very  easily  disgusted.  I  have 
seen  a  child  two  months  and  a  half  old  refuse  its  bottle 
determinately  and  with  a  face  of  disgust;  once  because  it 
was  filled  with  water,  aud  another  time  because  the  milk 
was  not  sweetened.  Some  children  appear  sensitive  to  all 
impressions  of  taste,  whatever  they  may  be,  while  others 
again  are  indifferent  to  them.  A  member  of  my  family, 
when  a  child,  could  never  be  persuaded  by  her  mother  to 
taste  wine,  and,  in  spite  of  the  advice  of  doctors,  she  has 
never  been  able  to  drink  anything  but  water.  Other  chil¬ 
dren,  and  by  far  the  greater  number,  begin  very  early  to 
notice  the  acid  taste  in  certain  substances.  In  general, 
however,  children  very  easily  change  their  tastes,  which  is 
a  reason  for  not  forcing  them  to  eat  things  against  their 
inclination  when  there  is  no  necessity  for  it. 

Olfactory  Sensations. — Children,  as  a  rule,  appear  to  re¬ 
main  for  some  time  insensible  to  bad  smells.  The  prob¬ 
ability,  however,  is,  that  they  are  only  less  sensitive  to 
them  than  adults  are,  and  that  their  olfactory  apparatus, 
the  delicate  organs  of  which  are  closely  related  to  the 
different  regions  of  the  brain,  are  not  highly  developed  in 
the  earlier  months.  This  would  not  be  at  all  surprising, 
as  the  olfactory-sense  seems  to  be  of  no  use  whatever  to 
the  nursing  child.  Possibly  also,  as  odors  are  variable 
and  fleeting  in  their  nature,  it  may  require  a  practiced 
judgment  to  distinguish  the  sensations  produced  by  them, 
and  to  refer  them  to  the  right  objects  and  causes.  To 
know  the  origin  of  a  sensation,  is  to  be  able  to  single  it 
out  from  the  concomitant  sensations. 

Nevertheless  certain  specialist  doctors  have  assured  me 
4 


34  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


that  new-born  infants  are  impressed  by  smells,  and  I  have 
had  cited  to  me  the  cases  of  a  child  of  six  weeks,  and 
another  of  two  months,  who,  in  refusing  or  in  taking  the 
breast  of  certain  nurses,  were  guided  only  by  the  smell  of 
their  perspiration.  Tiedemann,  whose  son  at  the  age  of 
thirteen  days  had  rejected  different  medicines  after  having 
tasted  them  several  times,  supposes  that  “he  distinguished 
them  from  his  food  by  their  smell.”  A  son  of  Darwin’s, 
thirty-two  days  old,  “recognized  its  mother’s  breast  at  a 
distance  of  75  to  100  millimetres,  as  the  movement  of  its 
lips  and  the  fixity  of  its  eyes  testified;”  and  Darwin  as¬ 
sumes  that  sight  and  touch  had  nothing  to  do  with  this, 
and  that  the  child  was  guided  by  the  sensation  of  heat,  or 
by  the  smell.  But  scientific  observations  concerning  smell, 
both  from  the  emotional  and  the  cognitive  point  of  view, 
are  very  incomplete,  even  when  coming  from  the  most 
competent  people. 

An  infant  of  fifteen  days,  one  month  or  two  months, 
manifests  only  visual  or  tactile  sensations  in  the  presence 
of,  or  in  contact  with,  a  rose,  a  lily,  a  geranium,  or  a  nose¬ 
gay  of  flowers ;  but  I  would  not  affirm  that  it  experiences  no 
other  sensations.  I  have  subjected  a  certain  number  of 
children  between  the  ages  of  ten  and  fifteen  months,  to 
experiments  relating  to  the  olfactory  sensations,  and  all  of 
them, — excepting  one  who  was  insensible  to  any  smells, 
even  those  of  tobacco  and  ether, — felt  the  different  olfac¬ 
tory  impressions  very  vividly.  One  child  of  ten  months 
seemed  to  me  to  be  very  sensitive  to  pleasant  smells  and 
very  much  annoyed  by  bad  ones.  When  I  prevented  his 
seizing  hold  of  a  rose,  or  a  bunch  of  violets,  which  I  had 
held  close  to  his  nose,  his  expression  and  his  gestures  evi¬ 
dently  begged  me  to  give  them  to  him.  When  I  again 
held  them  up  to  his  nose,  he  remained  some  time  quite 
motionless,  smiling  with  pleasure;  in  short,  he  seemed  to 
appreciate  and  delight  in  pleasant  scents.  As  we  said 
above,  there  are  some  kinds  of  food  which  not  only  im¬ 
press  the  organs  of  taste  (affording  us  the  sensations 
described  as  sweet,  saline,  sour,  acid,  bitter,  etc.),  but 
which  act  on  the  olfactory  nerves, — chocolate  and  coffee, 
for  instance, — and  these  this  child  was  extravagantly  fond 


ORGANIC  SENSATIONS. 


35 


of;  and  it  certainly  appreciated,  as  thoroughly  as  a  grown¬ 
up  person  could,  the  perfumes  of  cocoa  and  mocha.  I 
have  seen  two  other  children  of  the  same  age  who  cared 
less  for  the  perfume  of  a  rose  or  of  mignonette,  by  which 
the  alimentary  organs  are  not  affected,  than  they  did  for 
the  smell  of  chocolate.  Odors  connected  with  food  are 
apt,  as  we  can  easily  conceive,  to  take  rank  before  odors 
pure  and  simple  with  the  inexperienced  sensibility  of  a 
child,  while  the  contrary  is  frequently  the  case  with  adults. 
The  ancients  crowned  themselves  with  roses  at  their  ban¬ 
quets  ;  and  we  ourselves  often  deck  our  dinner-tables  with 
flowers,  or  at  any  rate  we  generally  have  about  us  delicate 
perfumes  which  do  not  impair  the  flavor  of  the  wines  and 
viands. 

Organic  Sensations. — Bain  has  given  this  name  to  those 
sensations  which  arise  from  the  diverse  dispositions  and 
affections  of  our  bodies  and  which  all  become  fused  into 
the  vital  or  fundamental  sense — the  general  sensation  of 
existence  and  the  immediate  sensation  of  our  own  body, 
which  is,  according  to  Luys,  the  sum  of  all  nervous  actions, 
and,  as  it  were,  the  organic  basis  of  consciousness.  To  the 
organic  sense  are  to  be  referred  the  respiratory  sensations, 
which  we  have  already  spoken  of,  the  sensations  of  the 
circulation  and  nutrition,  the  organic  sensations  of  the 
nerves  and  the  muscles,  such  as  fatigue,  pain  from  a  cut  or 
a  scratch,  cramps,  spasms,  etc.  There  is  no  doubt  that 
children,  with  their  incomplete  organisms  and  imperfect 
powers  of  adjustment,  frequently  suffer  from  these  different 
kinds  of  pain,  especially  during  the  first  period  of  exist¬ 
ence.  It  is  less  evident  that  they  experience  correspond¬ 
ing  sensations  of  pleasure,  the  latter  being  only  equivalent 
to  a  passive  state  of  functional  regularity  and  general  well¬ 
being  which  is  not  expressed  by  violent  signs. 

The  state  of  comfort  resulting  from  regular  breathing 
is  one  of  these  passively  pleasurable  sensations  which 
children  have  most  experience  of.  In  fact,  respiration 
being  more  active  in  infancy  than  in  adult  life,  and  the 
frequency  of  inspiration  in  children  causing  them  greater 
need  of  oxygen,  they  must  on  the  one  hand  have  their 
attention  a  good  deal  excited  by  this  respiratory  action,  on 


36  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


account  of  the  rapid  modifications  which  it  causes  in  their 
organs;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  quality  and  tempera¬ 
ture  of  the  air  breathed  must  afford  them  sensations 
corresponding  to  the  freshness  and  appetition  of  their  respi¬ 
ratory  organs.  We  know,  moreover,  that  even  before  the 
age  of  a  month  there  is  nothing  more  salutary  or  enjoy¬ 
able  to  infants  than  to  be  carried  out  into  the  open  air. 

If  we  admit  that  there  is  an  organic  and  automatic  con¬ 
sciousness  always  watching  over  all  the  internal  and 
external  parts  of  a  young  infant,  we  may  also  class  among 
its  happy  sensations  those  which  regular  sleep  afford  it. 
Sound  slumber  in  a  child  implies  healthy  and  thorough 
nutrition,  and  perfect  harmony  of  all  its  functions.  Not 
only  is  sleep  the  necessary  condition  of  the  growth  of  the 
organs,  and  of  moral  and  intellectual  development,  which 
depends  less  on  the  impressions  received  than  on  the  per¬ 
ceptions  digested  and  consolidated,  but  it  is  the  greatest 
boon  that  nature  bestows  on  children  before  the  age  of 
eager  curiosity  and  easy  locomotion. 

Muscular  Sensations. — I  have  already  had  occasion  to 
speak  of  a  sense  to  which  a  certain  number  of  the  tractile 
properties  of  bodies  have  been  transferred — the  muscular 
sense ;  which,  in  the  opinion  of  Renouvier,  is  only  a  hypoth¬ 
esis,  but  the  existence  of  which  Bain  and  Wundt  believe 
they  have  established  by  irrefutable  experiments.  To  this 
“interior  contact”  are  usually  referred  all  sensations  of 
pressure,  weight,  traction,  and  even  resistance;  it  is 
regarded  as  the  conscious  centre,  not  only  of  muscular 
contractions,  but  even  of  the  state  of  the  muscles,  and  in 
a  lesser  degree,  of  the  state  of  the  articulations  of  the 
skin  accompanying  muscular  contractions. 

Whatever  be  the  origin  and  whatever  the  centre  of  these 
sensations,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  there  result  from  them 
sensations  of  pleasure  or  pain  of  a  particular  sort,  inde¬ 
pendent  of  the  moral  pleasure  or  displeasure  resulting 
from  desires  more  or  less  keen  and  more  or  less  perfectly 
satisfied.  An  effort  pleases  in  itself  when  it  is  not  too 
violent;  it  may  then  be  said  that  sensations  of  pressure,  of 
weight,  of  muscular  efforts,  are  agreeable  to  children  when 
not  beyond  their  strength,  and  more  or  less  disagreeable 


MUSCULAR  AND  THERMAL  SENSATIONS.  37 


to  them  in  the  contrary  case.  These  sensations  are  also 
all  the  more  agreeable  the  more  they  are  varied.  Each 
limb  and  each  organ  is  capable  of  an  infinite  number  of 
movements  which  produce  in  the  owner  the  personal, 
although  perhaps  unconscious,  sense  of  his  own  activity 
and  existence.  How  many  muscles  are  put  into  play  suc¬ 
cessively  or  simultaneously  by  the  simple  action  of  drag¬ 
ging  along  a  hall  tied  to  a  piece  of  string  I  And  in  the 
matter  of  a  weight,  however  small,  to  he  lifted  or  held  up, 
it  is  not  only  the  muscles  of  the  back,  shoulders,  neck,  or 
arm  which  are  exerted,  hut  also  a  certain  number  of 
respiratory  muscles.  Ferrier  seems  in  fact  to  have  demon¬ 
strated  that  the  sense  of  effort  necessary  for  the  discern¬ 
ment  of  a  heavy  weight  “would  he  more  correctly  assigned 
to  the  region  of  the  respiratory  muscles.”  This  sensation 
of  weight,  which  precedes  the  appreciation  of  weight,  is 
thus  a  muscular  phenomenon  of  such  complexity  that  the 
host  of  sensations  which  result  from  it  must  deeply  affect 
the  muscular  consciousness,  or  the  centre  where  the 
attributes  of  that  consciousness  are  located.  The  pleasure 
of  a  state  of  equilibrium  and  health,  the  pleasure  of  mod¬ 
erate  and  appropriate  exercise  when  he  moves  his  own 
limbs  or  they  are  moved  for  him,  such  are  the  enjoyable 
sensations  which  unconscious  infants  experience  every  day. 
But  on  the  other  hand,  how  many  disagreeable  and  hurt¬ 
ful  sensations  do  not  we  ourselves  cause  them,  without 
being  aware  of  it. 

Thermal  Sensations. — The  sensations  of  heat  and  cold 
depend  essentially  on  the  difference  of  temperature  between 
our  organs  and  the  surrounding  atmosphere,  the  radiating 
body  and  the  body  in  contact — either  the  air  or  any  object 
whatever.  When  the  disproportion  is  only  moderate,  there 
results  an  agreeable  sensation  of  warmth  or  coolness,  as 
the  case  may  be;  when  it  exceeds  certain  limits,  it  causes 
pain  and  at  the  same  time  more  or  less  serious  trouble  in 
the  depths  of  organic  life.  In  spite  of  the  incomplete 
development  of  their  “  plexus”  and  nerve  centres,  children, 
from  the  delicacy  of  their  epidermic  tissues,  their  slight 
degree  of  nutritive  activity,  and  the  smallness  of  their  bulk, 
are  predisposed  to  very  great  susceptibility  to  temperature. 


38  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


We  liave  already  seen  that  the  foetus  is  very  sensitive  to 
high  or  low  temperature.  With  all  new-horn  animals,  the 
tendency  to  suffer  from  cold  is  very  great,  and  they  are 
very  apt  to  die  of  cold  even  in  summer,  if  out  of  reach  of 
the  sun. 

The  pleasure  which  young  children  derive  from  sensa¬ 
tions  of  warmth  is  so  evident  that  it  is  needless  to  dwell 
on  it.  But  we  may  legitimately  ask  whether  the  sensations 
of  cold  which  cause  death  to  so  many  are  as  painful  to  them 
as  they  would  he  to  older  children  or  adults.  My  own 
opinion  is,  that  very  young  children  suffer  less  in  reality 
than  we  should  expect,  considering  the  sensitiveness  of 
their  organization  to  such  impressions.  Sensations  of  the 
above  nature  are  generally  modified  in  the  adult  by  judg¬ 
ments,  habits,  and  sentiments  of  diverse  and  variable  kinds 
which  a  rise  or  fall  of  some  degrees  may  awaken  in  them. 
A  sentry  on  duty  during  a  hard  frost  will  possibly  have 
thoughts  in  his  mind  which  may  counterbalance  the  keen 
sensations  of  cold,  or  may  make  reflections  and  compari¬ 
sons,  call  up  recollections,  indulge  in  imaginations,  which 
will  have  the  result  of  making  the  cold  more  painful  to  him 
than  to  a  child  of  two  months,  or  only  a  few  weeks,  exposed 
perhaps  on  a  doorstep  a  few  paces  from  him.  It  is  need¬ 
less  to  insist  on  a  fact  patent  to  all,  viz.,  that  the  individ¬ 
ual  constitution,  and  the  accidental  state  of  health  augment 
or  diminish,  in  children  as  well  as  in  adults,  the  suscepti¬ 
bility  of  which  we  are  speaking. 

Sensations  of  Touch. — The  sense  of  touch  is  a  means  of 
preservation  before  it  becomes  a  means  of  instruction ;  and 
we  know  that,  like  the  muscular  and  thermal  senses,  it 
operates  already  in  the  womb  under  the  action  of  the  pres¬ 
sure  of  a  hand  or  of  heat  or  cold  air.  At  the  moment  of 
birth  cutaneous  sensibility  is  very  acute,  and  the  child 
seems  to  show,  either  by  a  happy  state  of  quiescence  or  by 
cries  and  convulsions,  that  the  contact  with  outward  objects 
causes  it  pleasure  or  pain. 

The  sensation  of  resistance  is  considered  by  some  to  be 
the  fundamental  sensation  of  touch.  The  intensity  of  this 
sensation,  and  the  modifications  of  which  it  is  capable, 
according  to  the  nature  of  the  objects  which  cause  the 


SENSATIONS  OF  TOUCH. 


39 


impressions,  will  produce  in  children  feelings  that  are 
either  really  painful  or  simply  annoying  and  irritating; 
such  are  the  feelings  of  tickling,  rubbing,  bandaging,  prick¬ 
ing,  etc.  Sensations  of  contact  which  seem  to  us  insignifi¬ 
cant  cause  a  child  great  uneasiness,  and  will  cause  it  to 
make  faces,  to  scream,  to  wriggle  its  body,  to  toss  its  arms 
about  and  carry  them  automatically  to  its  face.  A  feather 
passed  over  the  eyes  and  nose  of  a  child  fifteen  days  old 
made  it  frown,  contract  its  nose  obliquely,  and  close  its 
eyes.  Other  children  again,  at  an  older  age,  are  insensible 
to  this  kind  of  excitation. 

As  to  the  pleasant  sensations  of  touch,  it  is  not  so  easy 
to  tabulate  their  signs  (though,  as  we  have  said,  they  are 
very  evident)  in  children  less  than  two  months  old.  Light 
and  delicate  pressure,  the  contact  of  a  soft  skin  or  material, 
do  not  call  up  in  the  face  any  decided  expression  of  pleas¬ 
ure,  a  smile  or  movement  of  the  eyes.  Infants,  however, 
are  not  insensible  to  this  kind  of  sensations,  which  signify 
to  them  already  the  presence  of  certain  objects;  it  is  im¬ 
possible  but  that  they  should  produce  in  the  little  creatures 
some  vague  sensations  of  comfort,  in  spite  of  their  inability 
to  localize  or  differentiate  them.  Later  on,  experience  and 
comparison  will  have  taught  them  to  distinguish  these  sen¬ 
sations  from  the  more  violent  ones  which  cause  pain  or 
annoyance.  But  at  the  age  of  two  months,  when  a  child 
appears  to  enjoy  the  touch  of  my  hand  stroking  its  own 
hand,  or  cheek,  or  forehead,  is  it  the  contact  itself  which 
pleases  it,  and  even  makes  it  smile,  or  is  it  the  idea  of  its 
mother’s  breast  which  the  contact  of  the  skin  calls  up,  or 
the  pleasure  resulting  from  the  sensation  of  temperature? 
Possibly  all  these  at  the  same  time.  Soon  too  the  sympa¬ 
thetic  significance  of  caresses,  which  babies  are  not  slow 
in  understanding,  begins  to  afford  them  very  evident  pleas¬ 
ure  in  connection  with  tactile  sensations.  However  this 
may  be,  and  notwithstanding  the  absence  of  signs  indicating 
it,  I  incline  to  believe  that  tactile  pleasure  is  experienced 
at  a  very  early  period.  There  is  no  doubt  about  it  in  the 
case  of  young  animals.  If  I  pass  my  finger,  gently,  and 
several  times  in  succession,  over  the  head  of  a  sparrow  ten 
days  old,  it  will  almost  close  its  eyes,  and  with  its  head 


40  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


bent  down  it  will  put  itself  into  a  position  favorable  to  the 
continuance  of  tliis  pleasant  process.  The  same  thing 
happens  with  kittens  and  puppies.  And  why  should  it  not 
be  the  same  also  with  young  children? 

Visual  Sensations. — We  cannot  but  regard  as  exaggeration 
Tiedemann’s  statement  concerning  his  son,  who,  when 
scarcely  thirteen  days  old,  he  tells  us,  showed,  both  in  his 
eyes  and  his  general  countenance,  expressions  of  pain  or 
pleasure  at  the  sight  of  certain  objects,  and  paid  sustained 
attention  to  the  gestures  of  people  who  spoke  to  him.  But 
to  keep  within  well-established  limits,  we  may  without 
audacity  affirm  that  at  the  age  of  a  month  or  forty  days  a 
child  has  already  experienced  a  certain  number  of  pleasures 
and  pains  suggested  by  visual  impressions.  The  pleasures 
consist  in  the  sensations  caused  by  luminous  objects — 
candles,  lamps,  the  flames  of  the  fire,  the  sunlight,  brightly 
colored  objects,  and  the  lights  and  shadows  caused  by 
moving  them  about.  The  pains  are  caused  by  impressions 
of  too  violent  a  nature,  colors  which  are  too  bright,  sounds 
which  are  too  noisy,  objects  brought  too  abruptly  in  con 
tact  with  the  retina,  or  too  rapidly  shaken  in  front  of  it, 
and  also  by  the  moral  annoyance  which  must  result  from 
imperfect  adaptation  to  one’s  surroundings,  or  at  any  rate 
the  physical  pain  arising  from  efforts  after  normal  adjust¬ 
ment.  This  latter  hypothesis  seems  to  me  indeed  to  rest 
on  grave  analogies.  It  is  unfortunately  not  true  that  the 
progressive  adaptation  of  the  young  human  being  to  the 
surroundings  for  which  it  is  hereditarily  constituted  takes 
place  by  successive  steps,  with  gentle  transitions  and  prov¬ 
idential  management.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  sufferings 
of  a  human  being  are  all  the  greater  in  proportion  to  his 
weakness.  With  regard  to  intellectual  perception,  the 
organs  may  exercise  themselves  usefully  according  to  their 
strength ;  but  the  same  cannot  be  said  of  sensibility  rela¬ 
tively  to  pleasure.  As  Rosseau  has  said,  “  Much  time  is 
needed  for  learning  to  see,”  and  imperfect  sight  is  neces¬ 
sarily  accompanied  by  painful  sensations,  like  all  other 
ill-satisfied  needs 

Visual  impressions  do  not  produce  in  children  the  same 
emotions  of  pain  or  pleasure,  nor  perhaps  so  great  a  num- 


VISUAL  AND  AUDITORY  SENSATIONS. 


41 


ber  of  them,  as  in  adults.  All  colors,  it  is  true,  attract 
and  fascinate  them;  subdued  colors,  also,  are  not  always 
indifferent  to  them,  and  sometimes  they  afford  them  evi¬ 
dent  pleasure,  provided  they  are  distinct  and  contrasted 
with  brighter  ones,  as  black  on  grey,  or  even  grey  on  white, 
and  provided,  above  all,  that  the  child’s  organism  is  im¬ 
pressible.  I  saw  a  little  girl  of  three  months  and  a  boy  of 
five  months  delighted  with  some  drawings  of  a  uniformly 
grey  color.  The  boy  took  a  particular  fancy  to  some  lith¬ 
ographs  in  black  and  white;  it  was  enough  to  say  the 
word  “  picture  ”  to  him,  for  his  eyes  to  turn  to  the  part  of 
my  room  where  these  lithographs  hung.  Another  child  of 
six  months  only  evinced  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  bright- 
colored  pictures  and  flowers ;  but  these  seemed  to  delight 
him  quite  as  much  as  they  did  the  other  children.  The 
conclusion  I  came  to  was,  that,  owing  either  to  hereditary 
causes  or  to  personal  habits,  there  was  less  energy  in  his 
visual  organs,  or  that  his  moral  sensibility  was  not  so 
easily  excited  by  the  sensation  of  color  as  that  of  his  two 
companions. 

It  would  not  be  very  easy  to  discern  in  a  child  between 
the  ages  of  one  day  and  five  months  the  painful  emotions 
produced  by  certain  colors,  although  it  is  incontestably 
established  that  the  visual  organs  have  adaptive  powers, 
and  also,  without  doubt,  likes  and  dislikes.  I  have  not 
succeeded  in  discerning  in  children  of  this  age,  or  even  in 
much  older  ones,  any  trace  of  those  affective  predisposi¬ 
tions  of  sight,  the  result  of  differences  of  organization, 
which  express  themselves  unconsciously  in  adults  in 
marked  preferences  for  such  and  such  colors. 

The  pleasures  and  pains  of  sight  are  possibly  in  great 
measure  artificial  phenomena  with  adults.  But  with 
children  who  go  on  for  a  long  time  without  any  distinct 
ideas  all  the  utility  or  the  hurtfulness  of  different  objects; 
all  objects  whatever  are  in  their  eyes  merely  moving 
colors,  all  of  which  give  them  pleasure  as  soon  as  they 
produce  impressions  on  their  visual  organs. 

Auditor y  Sensations. — Infants  are  very  early  excited  by 
sound,  by  musical  instruments  or  song.  Tiedemann’s  son 
heard  the  piano  played  for  the  first  time  when  he  was 


42  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OE  CHILDHOOD* 


forty  days  old,  and  he  is  said  to  have  shown  singular 
delight  and  excitement  at  the  sound.  A  young  relation 
of  mine  delighted  in  hearing  singing  or  playing  when  only 
a  month  old.  At  the  age  of  six  months  he  was  taken  on 
a  visit  to  some  aunts ;  and  the  strong  emotion  produced 
in  him  by  the  songs  they  sang  to  him  was  manifest  from 
the  brightness  of  his  eyes  and  the  immobility  and  height¬ 
ened  color  of  his  face.  The  younger  one  oang  to  him 
first,  and  he  listened  to  her  with  evident  delight;  but 
when  the  other  sister  joined  in,  with  her  more  vibrating 
and  more  melodious  voice,  he  instantly  turned  to  her,  and 
an  undefinable  expression  of  admiration  and  surprise  came 
over  his  countenance.  All  children  are  not  equally  sensi¬ 
tive  to  melody;  but  all  clear,  ringing  sounds,  especially  if 
reiterated  more  or  less  rhythmically,  seem  to  amuse  them 
when  they  do  not  strike  too  violently  against  the  tympa¬ 
num.  I  have  seen  many  infants  of  two  months  whom 
noises  of  medium  intensity, — the  sound  of  a  door  being 
shut,  a  footstep,  a  voice,  the  bark  of  a  dog  close  by, — did 
not  seem  to  affect  in  any  way  whatever.  But  at  four  or 
six  months  almost  all  babies  like  being  sung  to,  and  a 
great  many  try  to  warble  themselves,  from  instinct  or  love 
of  imitating.  We  may,  then,  conclude  that  there  are 
sounds  which  are  pleasant  and  sounds  which  are  un¬ 
pleasant  to  children,  according  as  their  vibrations  corre¬ 
spond  to  certain  conformations  of  the  acoustic  apparatus, 
or  to  certain  inherent  states  of  the  personality,  or  awaken 
concordant  emotions  in  the  mysterious  recesses  of  their 
hereditary  sensorium. 

However  it  may  be,  children  become  soonest  accustomed 
to  those  very  noises  which  at  first,  for  one  reason  or 
another,  impressed  their  tympanum  disagreeably.  Start¬ 
ling,  piercing,  scraping  noises  are  not  so  disagreeable  to 
them  as  to  grown  people.  They  will  shudder,  it  is  true, 
on  hearing  them,  and  sometimes  cry  if  the  noise  is  very 
loud  and  near;  but  few  sounds  displease  them  on  moral 
grounds,  or  by  reason  of  the  association  of  ideas  which 
makes  noises  call  up  the  idea  of  objects  known  to  be  dis¬ 
agreeable.  They  are  not  more  particular  about  melody, 
either,  than  bees,  serpents,  monkeys,  and  other  animals, 


AUDITOKY  SENSATIONS. 


43 


to  whom  the  most  rude  and  deafening  noise,  providing  it 
is  rhythmical,  is  as  good  as  music.  From  the  moment 
that  children  can  hold  things  in  their  hands,  anything 
that  they  produce  sound  with  delights  them,  and  they  are 
evidently  as  happy  as  they  can  be  in  the  execution  of 
these  feats.  I  can  never  see  little  children  doing  their 
best  to  deafen  themselves  and  others  without  being  re¬ 
minded  of  the  monkey  musicians  of  Africa,  of  which 
Houzeau  writes:— “The  noise  of  these  animals  is  not 
always  the  mere  accidental  result  of  the  play  of  their 
organs,  it  is  sometimes  produced  intentionally;  they  will 
make  a  noise  for  the  love  of  the  noise,  and  as  a  means  of 
amusing  and  exciting  themselves.  I  am  not  alluding  to 
the  ordinary  sounds  with  which  tropical  forests  resound — 
deafening  screams,  the  crashing  of  broken  branches,  the 
pecking  of  beaks  on  the  bark  of  trees,  the  cracking  of  nuts 
in  the  teeth — which  are  the  natural  result  of  the  existence 
and  occupations  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  woods.  I  mean 
the  sounds  which  are  produced  by  monkeys  with  as  deter¬ 
mined  an  intention  as  that  of  a  bell-ringer  or  a  player  on 
the  drum.  The  black  chimpanzees  of  Africa,  for  instance, 
will  assemble  together  as  many  as  twenty,  thirty,  or  fifty, 
and  amuse  themselves  not  only  with  uttering  shrieks,  but 
by  beating  and  thumping  on  dead  wood  with  small  sticks 
held  in  their  hands  or  feet.” 1 


i  Houzeau,  Les  Facultes  Hentales  des  Animaux,  etc.,  t.  ii.,  p.  106. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


GENERAL  AND  SPECIAL  INSTINCTS. 

In  man  as  in  animals,  instinct  manifests  itself  in  con¬ 
genital  dispositions  to  perform  certain  definite  actions 
under  certain  special  circumstances.  These  dispositions 
to  produce  given  actions  are  the  tendencies  which  make  up 
our  natural  and  hereditary  constitution.  It  is  the  uncon¬ 
scious  experience  of  our  ancestors  adapting  itself  with  more 
or  less  consciousness  or  freedom  to  the  individual  experi¬ 
ence  of  their  descendants.  It  is  necessary  to  insist  on 
these  mysterious  impulses  of  organic  and  psychic  activity, 
and  to  set  forth  their  true  nature,  in  order  that  we  should 
not  be  tempted  to  look  on  animals  as  mere  machines,  set 
in  motion  once  for  all  at  the  beginning  of  life,  and  on 
children  (with  the  exception  that  they  have  reason  in  addi¬ 
tion)  as  animals,  with  analogous,  and  perhaps  rather  in¬ 
ferior  instincts. 

The  best  treatises  of  current  philosophy,  whether  in¬ 
tended  to  awaken  in  the  young  generation  or  to  perfect  in 
the  more  erudite  a  sense  of  psychological  observation,  still 
represent  instinct  as  having  the  following  character¬ 
istics: — ignorance  of  the  end  in  view,  immediate  perfec¬ 
tion  of  special  actions,  infallibility,  immobility,  and  uni¬ 
formity  in  these  actions.  To  be  quite  just,  however,  we 
must  own  that  M.  Janet  does  not  recognize  “in  these  char¬ 
acteristics  absolute  and  inflexible  laws.” 1  He  admits  as 
a  fact  of  experience  that  instinct  may  vary  “under  the 
influence  of  certain  circumstances,  though  within  very 


1  Janet,  Traile  Elementaire  de  Philosophie,  t.  i.,  p.  37. 

44 


GENERAL  AND  SPECIAL  INSTINCTS. 


45 


narrow  limits  and  in  exceptional  cases;”  in  a  word,  that 
these  modifications  are  nothing  else  than  “an  innate  power 
of  adaptation  of  the  animal  to  its  surroundings,”  and  that 
they  only  occur  in  very  secondary  details. 

Let  us  first  endeavor  to  show  what  part  ignorance,  or 
rather  unconsciousness,  plays  in  the  working  of  instinct. 
It  is  perfectly  evident  that  not  one  of  the  movements  of 
the  foetus  can  be  explained  by  reason,  or  intelligent  will, 
or  experience.  They  do  not  proceed  from  consciousness, 
considered  as  an  impulsive  cause,  although  they  may  be 
supposed  to  provoke  the  exercise  of  consciousness.  When, 
shortly  after  its  hirtli,  we  see  a  little  baby  feeling  after  its 
mother’s  breast,  and  co-ordinating  the  movements  of  its 
mouth,  head  and  neck,  so  as  to  suck  in  the  milk;  when  it 
combines  the  actions  of  the  tongue,  palate  and  pharynx, 
which  co-operate  in  the  process  of  deglutition;  when,  a 
little  later  on,  it  presses  its  little  fingers  and  fists  against 
the  breast,  in  order  to  facilitate  the  passage  of  the  milk ; 
when  the  combined  and  harmonious  action  of  all  these 
numerous  organs  produces  respiration;  when  the  eyelids 
close  if  the  conjunctiva  be  touched,  or  if  too  intense  a 
light  disturbs  the  retina,  or  a  violent  sound  shocks  the  ear; 
when  irritation  of  the  face,  ears  or  tongue  causes  contrac¬ 
tion  of  the  muscles,  etc.,  etc.,  we  know  that  neither  ex¬ 
perience  nor  reason  have  taught  the  little  creature  these 
movements,  which  are  accomplished  with  a  precision  far 
superior  to  what  we  find  in  actions  where  the  will  inter¬ 
venes.  Both  children  and  young  animals  perform  all 
these  actions  without  knowing  either  their  object  or  the 
means  by  which  they  are  executed;  but  they  are  aware  of 
what  they  are  doing,  and  the  more  they  advance  in  knowl¬ 
edge  the  more  fully  will  they  be  aware  of  it,  and  the  more 
they  will  realize  the  means  to  the  end,  and  the  end  asso¬ 
ciated  with  the  means.  The  impulses  are  arbitrary  and 
unconscious,  but  the  actions  have  a  constant  tendency  to 
revert  to  their  original  nature,  which  may  often  have  been 
conscious  and  even  voluntary. 

Let  us  proceed  to  consider  the  immediate  perfection  of 
instinctive  actions.  “Animals,”  says  M.  Joly,  “generally 
succeed  the  first  time,  without  any  preliminary  attempts 


46  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


and  failures.  Birds  have  no  need  to  study  in  order  to 
make  their  nests.  Carnivorous  animals  feel  no  hesitation 
when  they  find  themselves  for  the  first  time  in  the  presence 
of  the  prey  destined  by  nature  for  them;  and  amongst  the 
herbs  of  a  meadow  ruminants  will  go  straight  to  those 
adapted  to  them.”  This  perfection  and  infallibility  of 
animal  instinct  are  very  much  exaggerated.  The  asser¬ 
tion  is  true  in  general  with  regard  to  the  principal  mechan¬ 
ical  functions  of  life,  the  most  delicate  and  indispensable 
organic  actions,  the  execution  of  which  it  would  have  been 
dangerous  to  entrust  to  the  will. 

Here  the  impulse  of  instinct  is  certain  and  unerring, 
“like  all  the  great  harmonies  of  nature,”  says  Houzeau. 
But  in  the  greater  number  of  other  less  necessary  actions, 
which  are  “ruled  or  at  least  influenced  by  the  animal 
itself,”  we  find  an  instinct  “subject  to  accidental  illu¬ 
sions,  to  the  aberrations  of  the  individual,  to  the  idiosyn¬ 
crasies  of  species.”1  It  would  not  be  uninteresting  to 
quote  a  few  examples  from  this  same  author,  showing  that 
instinct  can  sometimes  err. 

“The  large  earth  worm,  or  lob  worm,  is  very  much 
frightened  of  the  mole;  and  whenever  it  feels  the  earth 
moving,  it  mounts  to  the  surface  to  escape  from  this  insect 
hunter.  Now  certain  birds,  such  as  the  gull  and  the  lap¬ 
wing,  and  fishermen  who  use  earth  worms  as  bait,  prowl 
about  on  the  sands  in  search  of  the  latter.  The  worm, 
thinking  that  the  shaking  of  the  earth  is  caused  by  the 
approach  of  a  mole,  comes  out  of  his  subterranean  retreat 
and  falls  a  prey  to  the  other  enemy.  This  is  a  false  appli¬ 
cation  of  instinct,  but  it  is  not  correctly  speaking  a  false 
instinct.  .  .  .”  In  the  following  facts,  however,  we 

see  error  rather  than  illusion :  “  Of  what  use  would  it  be 
for  a  hen  to  retain  the  instinct  of  sitting  when  her  eggs 
are  addled,  just  as  if  she  were  able  to  hatch  them?  A 
superior  guide  would  make  a  distinction.  It  is  true  all 
the  same  that  a  hen  will  sit  without  eggs,  when  the  proper 
time  arrives,  from  which  we  surmise  that  repose,  the  atti- 


1  Houzeau  Etude  sur  les  Facultes  Mentales  chez  les  Animaux,  t.  i.,  p. 


GENERAL  AND  SPECIAL  INSTINCTS. 


47 


tude  of  prostration,  and  a  partial  abstinence  are  necessary 
to  tlie  dissipation  of  an  overabundance  of  organic  beat. 
The  ben  which  broods  over  an  empty  nest,  does  so  from 
personal  necessity.  .  But  the  instinct  of  preservation 
is  sometimes  faulty.  Thus,  little  birds  mistake  the  cuckoo 
for  a  sparrow  hawk;  and  these  same  sparrows  attack  the 
European  goat  sucker  as  if  they  had  reason  to  fear  him, 
while  in  reality  the  latter  bird  feeds  solely  on  moths  and 
nocturnal  insects.  .  .  Instinct  here  goes  too  far  in  the 

idea  of  protection ;  it  may  be  said  to  be  an  excess  of  pre¬ 
caution.  Here,  however,  is  an  example  of  a  contrary  case. 
The  aphides,  or  plant  insects,  do  not  know  that  the  larvae 
of  the  syrphides  are  their  mortal  enemies.  They  feel  no 
fear  at  the  sight  of  them  and  will  even  walk  over  their 
bodies.  The  syrphides,  which  feed  on  aphides,  take  ad¬ 
vantage  of  this  imprudence,  as  may  easily  be  imagined. 

“Thus  the  consciousness  of  danger,  and  even  of  an  ordi¬ 
nary  and  constant  danger,  may  be  at  fault;  instincts 
therefore  are  not  absolute.  But  the  facts  in  our  possession 
are  certainly  very  insufficient  to  determine  the  important 
question  at  the  head  of  this  chapter — Can  instinct  err?” 

It  is  probable,  but  it  has  not  yet  been  demonstrated, 
that  the  execution  of  instinctive  actions  is  influenced  in  a 
certain  measure  by  volition.  We  may  infer  this  particu¬ 
larly  from  the  fact  that  animals  have  the  power  of  sus¬ 
pending  their  respiration  and  exercising  a  partial  or 
momentary  control  (as  man  himself  can)  on  certain  auto¬ 
matic  functions.  Dogs  and  horses  suspend  their  breath, 
in  order  to  listen  better,  when  they  apprehend  some  danger. 
Now,  if  certain  actions  of  the  automatic  life  of  animals 
are  in  part  subjected,  though  in  a  very  limited  degree,  to 
the  control  of  volition,  why  should  it  be  a  matter  of  sur¬ 
prise  if  one  day  it  were  demonstrated  that  all  instincts  may 
be  equally  influenced  by  a  like  control? 

Since,  then,  instinct  may  err,  and  since,  up  to  a  certain 
point,  it  is  subject  to  the  control  of  consciousness  and 
volition,  it  follows  also  that  it  is  neither  uniform  for  the 
species  nor  invariable  for  the  individual.  Even  in  the 
case  of  animals,  it  obeys  the  law  of  progress;  and  this 
progress  is  more  or  less  rapid  according  to  the  usefulness 


48  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


which  is  to  result  from  it  to  the  species,  more  or  less  slow 
according  to  the  degree  which  it  is  to  attain  in  the  species, 
and  no  doubt  also  according  to  the  aptitudes  of  the  indi¬ 
vidual  and  the  influence  of  surroundings. 

Colts,  calves,  and  young  chickens  all  walk  by  instinct 
as  soon  as  they  are  born,  with  an  automatic  action  facili¬ 
tated  by  their  organization  and  which  they  perfect  by 
exercise  and  attention.  Birds  fly,  or  try  to  fly,  as  soon  as 
their  wings  are  strong  enough.  And  see  how  usefully 
heredity  interposes  in  similar  cases;  sheep  cannot  take 
care  of  their  young  ones  as  monkeys  and  women  do,  the 
lambs  would  therefore  perish  if  they  could  not  very  soon 
use  their  legs  and  walk.  A  child  sucks  by  instinct,  and 
moreover,  like  cats,  dogs,  and  lambs,  it  very  quickly  learns 
to  perform  this  operation  with  rapidity  and  certainty. 
With  walking,  however,  it  is  different;  and  although  the 
child  may  have  an  instinctive  faculty  for  the  operation,  it 
only  acquires  it  perfectly  by  dint  of  countless  efforts  and 
at  the  price  of  many  tumbles.  Here  too  we  see  the  care 
of  nature,  for  if  the  organs  of  locomotion  were  perfect  at 
starting,  while  intellectual  and  moral  experience  is  want¬ 
ing,  they  would  be  the  cause  of  dangerous  errors  and  fatal 
adventures.  Again,  children  very  early  show  themselves 
adepts  at  the  signs,  gestures,  or  cries  which  are  expressions 
of  emotion  or  volition;  but  it  is  not  until  their  psychic 
faculties  have  already  reached  a  degree  of  development 
superior  to  that  of  many  adult  animals  that  they  begin 
their  first  attempts  at  speech. 

Thus,  neither  with  human  beings  nor  with  animals  is 
instinct  a  uniform  and  infallible  guide.  For  children,  as 
for  animals, — though  in  the  former  case  within  limits  gen¬ 
erally  less  restricted — there  is  a  more  or  less  easy  and  cer¬ 
tain  development  of  the  instinct  to  be  followed;  a  child 
has  to  carry  on  the  simultaneous  development  of  all  its 
senses  and  faculties — intellectual,  volitional,  and  moral. 
One  is  struck,  it  is  true,  with  the  slowness  of  a  child’s 
progress  in  comparison  to  that  of  young  animals ;  but  a 
child  of  a  year  old  is  in  many  respects  much  more 
advanced  than  an  adult  animal  will  ever  be.  In  these 
respects  there  are  great  differences  in  children,  according 


SPECIAL  INSTINCTS. 


49 


to  their  natural  energy,  the  force  of  hereditary  transmis¬ 
sion,  and  the  nature  of  the  circumstances  under  which 
their  development  proceeds.  This  should  never  he  for¬ 
gotten  by  those  who  are  closely  connected  with  young 
children.  Their  influence,  whether  they  will  or  no,  is  by 
no  means  a  matter  of  indifference,  whether  from  a  quan¬ 
titative  or  a  qualitative  point  of  view,  to  the  develop¬ 
ment  of  the  instincts  of  their  young  charges.  They  would 
be  making  a  great  mistake  if  they  imagined  that  nature 
does  everything  at  this  early  age;  in  other  words,  that 
instincts,  the  fruit  of  hereditary  experience,  like  a  sort  of 
providential  grace,  dispenses  young  infants  from  all  need 
of  effort  and  personal  experience. 

We,  who  are  partisans  of  the  doctrine  of  evolution, 
must  be  careful  to  avoid  the  error  into  which  the  optimist 
champions  of  final  causes  fell  through  exaggeration  in  the 
opposite  extreme.  We  must  not  sacrifice  personal  experi¬ 
ence  to  the  experience  of  the  race,  nor  imagine  that  the 
apprenticeship  of  life  is  nothing  more  than  reminiscence, 
that  the  child  has  only  to  repeat  mechanically  the  work  of 
its  ancestors.  As  has  been  very  aptly  said,  “Notwith¬ 
standing  hereditary  transmission  of  instincts,  everything 
has  continually  to  be  done  over  again,  to  be  begun  anew 
in  each  new  individual;  and  life  is  made  up,  not  of  a 
series  of  easy  reminiscences,  but  of  a  chain  of  laborious 
acquisitions  and  personal  conquests.  In  short,  in  the 
evolution  of  the  race  we  must  not  lose  sight  of  individual 
evolution.” 


II. 


SPECIAL  INSTINCTS. 

Instinctive  activity  presents  a  great  many  different 
forms  in  new-born  children,  or  in  children  several  weeks 
old;  we  shall  endeavor  to  make  a  rapid  analysis  of  the 
principal  of  these.  And  first  of  all  we  must  distinguish 
between  general  tendencies,  or  simple  appetites  and  in¬ 
stincts,  and  special  tendencies,  or  complex  appetites  and 
instincts.  Among  the  first  we  class  the  instincts  of  taste, 
odor,  sight,  hearing,  touch,  muscular  activity,  and  ther- 
5 


50  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


mal  equilibration;  and  among  the  second  the  instincts 
of  nutrition,  of  sleep,  of  utterance,  locomotion  and  sex¬ 
uality. 

General  Instincts. — Wherever  there  are  organs  of  sensi¬ 
bility,  there  is  also  an  instinctive  tendency  to  perform 
actions  which  awaken  a  certain  sort  of  sensibility.  All 
the  senses  desire  to  be  satisfied;  and  we  have  seen  that 
from  the  moment  of  birth,  or,  at  any  rate,  a  few  days 
after,  a  young  child  will  begin  to  use  the  energy  which 
belongs  to  each  of  its  different  senses.  This  is  especially 
the  case  with  the  sense  of  taste,  which,  nevertheless,  at 
the  outset  is  passive  and  obtuse,  because  it  is  confounded 
with  the  sense  of  nutrition.  By  the  fourth  month,  how¬ 
ever,  the  child  has  become  better  able  to  abstract  his 
various  sensations,  and  shows  evident  signs  of  a  tendency 
to  desire  the  food  he  has  recognized  as  agreeable.  It  is 
the  same  also  with  the  sense  of  sight.  By  the  third  week 
the  eye  begins  to  be  attracted  by  light,  and  soon  after  by 
any  luminous  or  colored  objects  near  at  hand;  and  we  can 
here  plainly  see  that  the  instinct  which  impels  every 
organ  to  maintain  its  vitality  is  in  harmony  with  the 
instinct  which  drives  them  to  seek  satisfaction  in  exercise; 
all  colors  are  pleasing  to  young  children  if  they  stimulate 
their  sight  without  disturbing  it.  The  same  may  be  said 
of  auditory  impressions ;  we  have  seen  how  much  young 
children  delight  in  noise,  and  how  indifferent  they  are  to 
discord,  provided  their  ears  are  not  shocked.  These  two 
senses,  sight  and  hearing,  which  later  on  will  become  two 
essential  instruments  of  instruction  and  emotion,  operate 
at  first  solely  for  themselves,  if  I  may  so  express  myself, 
and  with  an  aim  entirely  affective.  A  child  of  two  or 
three  months  spends  the  greater  part  of  his  waking  hours 
in  looking  and  listening  for  the  sole  pleasure  that  the  sen¬ 
sations  of  seeing  and  hearing  afford  him,  independently 
of  any  immediate  or  future  utility,  and  without  any  feel¬ 
ing  of  curiosity  properly  so  called.  The  next  sense  that 
is  awakened  is  that  of  touch.  At  the  age  of  three  months, 
children  begin  to  stretch  out  their  hands  in  order  to 
take  hold  of  things;  they  touch  and  feel  everything 
within  reach,  and  their  tactile  sensations  develop  day  by  day. 


THE  INSTINCT  OF  NUTRITION. 


51 


A  child  of  six  months  spends  at  least  half  of  his  waking 
hours  in  exercising  the  organs  which  afford  him  pleasant 
sensations, — visual,  auditory,  tactile,  and  muscular;  and 
there  is  no  doubt  that  these  exercises  have  as  a  rule  no 
other  object  than  the  development  of  the  organs,  though 
at  intervals  the  child  notices  them  with  attention,  and  this 
attention  contributes  usefully  to  his  progress.  But  the 
tendency  to  enjoy  pleasant  sensations,  and  to  repeat  them 
over  and  over  again  for  their  own  sake,  is  the  dominant 
instinct  at  this  period.  This  tendency,  moreover,  exists 
at  all  periods  of  life.  A  grown-up  person,  who  is  not 
compelled  either  by  the  necessities  of  existence,  or  the 
claims  of  duty,  or  the  influence  of  special  or  professional 
habits,  to  bring  all  his  faculties  under  the  discipline  of 
useful  attention,  reverts  to  the  state  of  a  child — the  sensual 
and  unconscious  instinct  reassuming  its  sway  over  the 
voluntary  and  intellectual  instinct;  the  man  returns 
gradually  to  the  infant  state  of  looking  for  the  mere 
pleasure  of  seeing,  of  listening  for  the  sake  of  hearing,  of 
feeling  for  the  sake  of  gratifying  the  touch,  of  moving  and 
walking  for  the  sake  of  the  more  or  less  agreeable  sensa¬ 
tions  which  these  automatic  actions  produce.  How  many 
people  are  there  not  whose  days  are  passed  in  vacuity,  that 
is  to  say  in  nothing  higher  than  the  unconscious  func¬ 
tional  actions  of  the  instincts  of  sense,  which  have  grad¬ 
ually  become  transformed  into  barren  habits!  That  which 
is  a  constant  necessity  for  a  little  child,  who  after  slight 
efforts  at  attention  and  intellectual  operations  requires  to 
rest  in  less  engrossing  sensations,  is  only  necessary  to  the 
adult  at  intervals,  in  order  to  recover  from  nervous  or 
muscular  fatigue,  or  in  case  of  illness. 

The  Instinct  of  Nutrition. — The  appetite  for  nutrition, 
or  the  instinct  of  nourishing  oneself,  which  occupies  the 
first  place  among  special  appetites,  is  not  one  of  those 
tendencies  whose  stimulus  is  always  present  in  the  visceral 
organs,  as  the  need  of  breathing,  for  instance,  is  from  the 
moment  of  birth;  this  stimulus  has  to  be  supplied  from 
without,  and  the  state  of  the  viscera  to  which  the  appetite 
for  nourishment  corresponds  is  reproduced  at  regular 
intervals.  Even  in  the  later  stages  of  uterine  life,  the 


52  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


intimate  union  between  sensory  activity  and  visceral 
wants  is  established  relatively  to  this  instinct;  it  is  because 
its  functions  are  too  delicate,  too  important,  and  too  com¬ 
plex  for  the  organs  destined  to  perform  them  to  be  able  to 
come  into  play  at  the  moment  of  birth — a  time  liable  to  a 
multitude  of  accidental  variations.  Hence  the  following 
facts,  related  by  Houzeau,  are  by  no  means  improbable : 

“Mammals  and  birds  absorb  nourishment  before  escap¬ 
ing  from  their  integuments;  the  chicken  consumes  the 
white  of  the  egg,  the  child  sucks  up  the  water  of  the 
amnios,  as  also  do  calves  and  the  greater  number  of  mam¬ 
mals.  This  foetal  alimentation  is  the  cause  of  the  often 
very  copious  motions  of  new-born  animals.  But  calves  go 
still  further.  It  is  an  ascertained  fact  that  they  lick  them¬ 
selves  before  the  time  of  birth,  pieces  of  their  own  hair 
having  been  found  in  their  stomach  with  the  water  of  the 
amnios.  .  .  .  The  instinct  of  nourishment  is  thus  as 

innate  as  the  need  of  taking  nourishment.”1  We  should 
even  add,  that  this  instinct  is  already  specialized,  “that  it 
does  not  impel  the  infant  indifferently  towards  all  objects 
alike,  but  towards  a  certain  class  of  objects.”  After  the 
first  months  of  milk  diet,  children  show  very  marked 
omnivorous  tendencies,  with  characteristic  differences  of 
likes  and  dislikes  according  to  the  individuals. 

The  instinct  of  nutrition  is  innate;  and  so,  up  to  a  cer¬ 
tain  point,  is  the  faculty  of  nourishing  oneself,  but  it  is 
not  perfect  on  the  day  of  birth.  Some  animals,  as  Bastian 
says,  exhibit  this  faculty  “almost  immediately  after  birth, 
and  without  making  any  previous  abortive  efforts.”  2  The 
wild  boar  and  the  chicken,  for  instance.  But  in  the  case 
of  animals  who  do  not  attain,  while  yet  in  the  oviduct  or 
the  uterus,  the  necessary  development  for  the  exercise  of 
certain  faculties,  the  latter  do  not  appear,  or  rather  are 
not  developed,  until  a  few  days  or  weeks  after  birth.  A 
child  manages  the  operation  of  suction,  though  awkwardly 
it  is  true,  a  few  hours  after  birth ;  but  it  cannot  masticate 
or  take  hold  of  other  food  adapted  to  its  species  any  more 


1  Etude  sur  les  Facultes  Mental.es  des  Animaux,  t.  i.,  p.  193. 

2  The  Brain  as  an  Organ  of  Mind. 


THE  INSTINCT  OF  SLEEP. 


53 


than  a  new-born  kitten  can  catch  or  devour  prey.  And 
just  as  a  kitten  does  not  learn  to  lie  in  wait  for  prey,  or  to 
seize  its  food  and  masticate  it  until  certain  parts  of  its 
organism  have  become  sufficiently  developed,  and  birds  do 
not  attempt  to  fly  away  and  seek  food  for  themselves  until 
the  right  organs  are  ready,  so  children  only  learn  to  take 
hold  of  and  eat  an  apple,  a  piece  of  bread,  a  cake,  etc., 
when  their  organs  of  mastication  have  reached  a  certain 
stage  of  maturity.  I  may  add,  that  the  forces  which 
suffice  to  produce  the  stimulus  of  instinctive  action  in 
infants,  as  in  kittens,  and  even  in  young  birds,  result  at 
first  merely  in  more  or  less  successful  attempts.  The 
power  of  feeding  oneself,  like  that  of  walking  or  flying, 
requires  always  a  longer  or  shorter  education,  in  which 
the  initiative  of  the  young  being  needs  to  he  helped  by  the 
example  and  encouragement  of  grown-up  people. 

The  Instinct  of  Sleep. — The  appetite  of  sleep  manifests 
itself  in  quite  a  special  way,  as  a  negative  tendency,  if  I 
may  so  express  myself,  as  a  need  for  the  cessation  of 
activity.  Hence  the  movements  and  actions  which  pro¬ 
duce  tranquillity  and  sleep  are  monotonous  and  slow;  the 
natural  rocking  of  branches  for  birds,  the  rhythmic  move¬ 
ment  of  the  head  in  horses  when  standing  upright,  and 
the  rocking  of  the  arms  or  cradle,  accompanied  by  a 
monotonous  song,  for  children’s  sleep,  is  interesting  to 
study  from  the  double  point  of  view  of  physiology  and 
psychology. 

The  physiological  cause  of  sleep  is  unknown.  On  what¬ 
ever  hypothesis  it  be  explained,  whether  cerebral  conges¬ 
tion  or  cerebral  anemia,  we  can  at  any  rate  easily  observe 
the  almost  constant  characteristics  of  this  phenomenon. 
It  takes  possession,  gradually  in  adults,  and  often  abruptly 
in  children,  of  all  the  different  organs:  first  of  all  the 
muscles  of  the  limbs,  the  arms  and  legs,  become  fixed  in 
the  position  they  happen  to  have  assumed ;  after  the  limbs, 
the  voluntary  muscles  of  the  trunk  relax  themselves  into  a 
state  of  more  or  less  complete  flexion.  It  has  also  been 
noticed  that  during  sleep  respiration  and  pulsation  be¬ 
come  rarer.  But  what  is  the  mental  condition  of  the  ani¬ 
mal  while  asleep?  While  the  nutritive  functions  and 


54  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


reflex  movements  are  still  going  on,  does  tlie  brain  cease 
to  operate?  Does  sleep  only  suspend  a  portion  of  the 
phenomena  of  psychic  activity?  We  know  nothing  about 
it.  It  is  probable  that  the  abolition  of  mental  states  is 
never  absolute,  that  it  never  reaches  all  the  regions  of  the 
brain,  even  when  sleep  is  profound. 

It  is  at  any  rate  certain, — both  memory  and  the  nature  of 
dreams  prove  this,— that  the  cerebral  hemispheres  have  a 
great  tendency  during  sleep  to  recommence  their  functions, 
though  always  in  an  incomplete  manner.  We  know  also 
that  the  impressions  which  come  from  the  viscera,  or  a 
very  slight  hindrance  in  the  circulation  or  respiration,  or 
too  strong  a  muscular  pressure,  or  repletion  or  vacuity  of 
the  intestines,  or  even  perceptions  from  the  external  world 
coming  abruptly  and  disagreeably,  will  give  rise  to  very 
painful  ideas  and  emotions,  and  cause  corresponding 
screams  and  movements.  Although  dreams  do  not  appear 
to  be  excluded,  even  from  profound  sleep,  they  are  gen¬ 
erally  fatiguing  to  the  organs.  Sleep  means  the  reparation 
and  restoration  of  the  forces  of  the  body,  and  the  inco¬ 
herent  activity  of  the  dream  state  is  a  premature  expend¬ 
iture  of  the  force  intended  for  the  activity  of  the  morrow. 

But  when  dreams  are  light,  intermittent  and  pleasant, 
when  they  do  not  hinder  the  complete  repose  of  the  prin¬ 
cipal  organs,  and  when  they  only  exercise  the  cerebral 
organ  moderately  and  without  tiring  it,  they  are  entirely 
negative  from  a  physiological  point  of  view,  while  at  the 
same  time  they  are  highly  favorable  to  the  intellectual  and 
moral  development.  In  the  absence  of  any  actual  per¬ 
ceptions,  past  perceptions  work  themselves  out  under  the 
law  of  association,  and  free  from  the  control  and  the 
obstacles  of  reality.  The  mind,  as  it  were,  isolates  itself 
from  the  external  world  in  order  to  abandon  itself  freely  to 
its  work  of  ideal  incubation  and  digestion. 

It  is  then,  and  perhaps  better  then  than  in  our  waking 
hours,  that  the  fortuitous  association  and  dissociation  of 
images  produce  those  abstractions  by  which  individual 
forms  are  detached  from  masses,  details  from  the  whole, 
and  qualities  from  objects;  there  is  no  doubt  that  in 
dreams  a  child’s  brain  is  crossed  by  images  as  vivid  in 


THE  INSTINCT  OF  SLEEP. 


55 


themselves  as  they  are  unlike  absolute  realities;  hallu¬ 
cinations  of  sound,  color,  and  tactile  imjjressions,  of 
muscular  sensations,  of  forms  isolated  or  grouped  together, 
of  objects  that  resemble  each  other,  and  objects  that  are 
differentiated,  and  still  more  series  of  actions  accomplished 
by  a  greater  or  less  number  of  actors,  and  giving  rise  to 
reasonings  and  sympathetic  sentiments.  All  the  intellect¬ 
ual  operations,  all  the  emotional  faculties,  are  exercised  in 
dreams  with  all  the  more  ease  and  utility  that  they  act 
solely  on  their  own  resources;  in  this  state  the  mind 
works  on  its  own  acquirements  and  ideas,  we  may  almost 
say,  on  itself.  Thus  it  may  be  said  that  sleep  is  for  chil¬ 
dren  general  repose  of  muscular,  sensorial,  and  cerebral 
activity,  though  with  intermittent  returns  of  activity,  all 
the  more  agreeable  and  serviceable  as  the  dreams  are  rare 
and  light.  We  know,  moreover,  that  a  child  of  two  or  three 
years  old  dreams  more  than  one  of  six  months  or  a  year, 
a  child  of  from  six  to  ten  years,  more  than  one  of  three, 
the  adult  less  than  the  youth,  and  the  old  man  less  than 
the  adult.  The  frequency  and  the  vivacity  of  dreams,  pre¬ 
supposing  of  course  the  normal  condition  of  the  subject, 
appears  to  be  in  proportion  to  the  psychic  excitability  or 
activity. 

Dreams  are  not  only  an  important  fact  of  psychic  life, 
interesting  to  our  intellectual  faculties;  their  influence 
extends  to  our  sentiments  and  even  to  our  morality.  The 
mental  states  which  are  produced,  with  or  without  con¬ 
sciousness,  during  sleep,  are  the  consequence  of  and  the 
preparation  for  certain  states  of  our  waking  hours.  “It  is 
possible,”  says  M.  Ch.  Leveque,  “that  the  cheerful  or  sad 
humors  of  the  day  are  a  faint  repetition  of  the  agitations 
experienced  in  sleep,  and  that  all  the  workings  of  the  mind 
during  the  night  may  help  to  produce  certain  actions  of  the 
day.”  There  is  indeed  no  doubt  that  remembrance  is  not 
the  only  trace  dreams  are  able  to  leave  after  them.  Accord¬ 
ing  to  the  nature  of  the  dreams  which  it  has  had  during 
the  night,  the  child  is  more  or  less  cheerful  during  the 
day,  more  or  less  inclined  to  be  good  and  obedient. 

I  have  said  enough  about  the  instinct  of  locomotion  in 
the  chapter  on  movements,  to  make  it  unnecessary  to  go 


56  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


over  it  all  again  here.  The  instinct  of  utterance  I  shall 
treat  of  in  the  chapter  dedicated  to  language.  The  instinct 
of  sexuality  will  be  most  fitly  considered  in  a  chapter  de¬ 
voted  to  modesty  or  to  the  moral  sense;  though  it  will  not 
be  amiss  to  devote  some  attention  to  it  in  this  chapter  con¬ 
cerning  special  tendencies. 

The  Sexual  Instinct. — The  localization  of  the  sexual 
instinct  in  the  brain  is  far  from  being  determined.  The 
hypothesis  of  Gall,  who  asserted  that  a  constant  relation¬ 
ship  exists  between  the  development  of  the  cerebellum  and 
the  sexual  appetite,  has  been  entirely  confuted  by  the  facts 
elicited  by  clinical  observation  and  human  pathology.  Ac¬ 
cording  to  Ferrier,  the  organic  needs  which  constitute  the 
basis  of  sexual  appetite,  centre  around  a  special  form  of 
tactile  sensation  which  may  be  supposed  to  have  its  centre 
in  close  relation  to  the  hippocampal  region.  But  it  is  only 
conjecture;  he  affirms  nothing.  He  adds,  moreover,  rest¬ 
ing  his  supposition  on  the  power  which  some  odors  have  to 
excite  the  sexual  instinct,  that  a  region  in  close  relation  to 
the  centres  of  the  sense  of  smell  and  to  the  tactile  sensa¬ 
tions  might  be  considered  as  the  probable  seat  of  the  sen¬ 
sations  which  constitute  the  basis  of  sexual  appetite.1  The 
centres  of  this  sensation,  according  to  the  same  writer, 
“are  probably  placed  in  the  regions  which  unite  the  occipital 
lobes  to  the  infero- internal  region  of  the  temporo-splienoidal 
lobe.  As  the  reproductive  organs  in  women  form  such  a 
preponderant  element  in  their  bodily  constitution,  they 
must  correspondingly  be  more  largely  represented  in  the 
cerebral  hemispheres,  a  fact  which  is  in  accordance  with 
the  greater  emotional  excitability  of  women,  and  the  rela¬ 
tively  larger  development  of  the  posterior  lobes  of  the 
brain.”2  Thus  we  are  reduced  to  hypotheses  with  regard 
to  the  localization  of  this  instinct,  and  it  is  not  necessary 
to  inquire  whether  the  brain  of  a  little  child  possesses,  in 
any  degree  of  development,  the  cerebral  organs  of  sexual 
appetition.  But  we  must  not  overlook  the  fact  that  this 
instinct  is  not  exclusively  characterized  by  the  reproductive 


1  David  Ferrier,  The  Functions  of  the  Brain,  p.  198. 

2  Ibid.,p.  263. 


THE  SEXUAL  INSTINCT. 


57 


tendency.  Its  chief  characteristic  is  the  appetition  of  the 
sensations  whose  unconscious  object,  or  rather,  perhaps, 
whose  result  is  the  multiplication  and  preservation  of  the 
human  race.  I  quote  here  the  words  of  a  recognized 
authority  on  comparative  psychology: 

“Modern  anatomists  have  proved  that  the  disparity  of 
the  sexes  is  much  less  radical  than  we  are  inclined  to  think. 
The  type  is  the  same  for  all  the  individuals  of  a  species. 
The  male  mammifer,  like  the  female,  has  breasts,  which 
only  lack  development.  The  analogy  is  continued,  if  not 
between  the  relative  proportions  of  the  different  parts,  at 
least  in  the  general  plan  of  structure,  down  to  the  genital 
organs.  Everard  Home  goes  as  far  as  to  think  that  at  the 
beginning  the  germ  may  be  indiscriminately  endowed  with 
either  sex,  and  that  its  being  male  or  female  would  depend 
on  ulterior  circumstances  of  a  simple  nature,  such  as  acci¬ 
dents  of  impregnation.  .  .  .  Even  in  superior  animals, 

the  sex,  though  it  cannot  be  changed,  is  not  such  an  exclu¬ 
sive  thing  as  is  generally  thought.  At  birth,  and  during 
all  the  first  period  of  life,  the  sex  can  only  be  distinguished 
by  the  structure  of  the  genital  organs.  It  is  only  later  in 
life  that  other  characteristics  appear,  the  beard,  the  breasts, 
etc.  The  male  bird  decks  himself  out  in  the  most  resplen¬ 
dent  plumage  ;  and  those  mental  affections  which  are 
allied  with  sexual  phenomena,  and  which  have  hitherto 
lain  dormant,  or  almost  so,  now  burst  forth  in  all  their 
strength.”  1 

The  same  author  cites  a  number  of  examples  taken  from 
the  mammifer  species,  and  tending  to  show  that  the  devia¬ 
tion  of  the  sexual  instinct, — going  as  far  as  to  anomalous 
confusion  of  sex  and  age,  and  the  exclusive  pursuit  of  sen¬ 
sations  connected  with  this  instinct, — is  not  special  to 
human  beings.  In  recording  these  physiological  observa¬ 
tions,  the  great  naturalist  has  no  other  object  than  to  ex¬ 
plain  the  brutality  of  the  passion  of  love  in  different  ani¬ 
mals.  They  enable  us  to  understand  the  like  excesses  in 
man,  who  is  not  necessarily  a  reasonable  animal,  but  an 


i  Houzeau,  Etudes  sur  les  Facultes  Mentales  des  Animaux,  tome.  i. 
pp.  274,  etc. 


> 


58  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


animal  who  can  and  onglit  to  be  reasonable.  Without 
dwelling  on  these  delicate  questions,  which  frequent  crimi¬ 
nal  scandals  and  the  success  of  a  certain  class  of  novels 
force  on  the  consideration  of  moralists  and  legislators,  I 
shall  content  myself  with  pointing  out  to  parents  and  edu¬ 
cator’s  who  are  ignorant  of  them,  the  possible  dangers 
resulting  from  the  deviation  and  corruption  of  the  sexual 
instinct,  even  as  regards  quite  young  children.  Let  me 
again  quote  a  few  passages  from  a  book  of  high  moral  pur¬ 
port,  which  grown-up  people  may  study  with  profit  both 
to  themselves  and  to  children  of  any  age  who  may  come 
under  their  care.  The  quotation  refers  only  to  the  moral 
interests  of  young  children. 

“The  following  points,  bearing  on  the  moral  education 
of  childhood  and  youth,  must  be  considered  by  all  parents 
who  are  convinced  of  the  saving  value  of  sexual  morality, 
viz.,  observation  of  the  child  during  infancy,  acquirement 
of  the  child’s  confidence,  selection  of  young  companions, 
care  in  the  choice  of  a  school  and  of  studies  which  will 
not  injure  the  mind,  the  formation  of  tastes,  outdoor  exer¬ 
cise,  companionship  of  brothers  and  sisters,  the  choice  of 
a  physician,  social  intercourse  and  amusements.  These 
various  points  require  careful  consideration. 

“  The  earliest  duty  of  the  parent,  is  to  watch  over  the 
infant  child.  Few  parents  are  aware  how  very  early  evil 
habits  may  be  formed,  nor  how  injurious  the  influence  of 
the  nurse”  [why  of  the  nurse  only?]  “often  is  to  the  child. 
The  mother’s  eye,  full  of  tenderness  and  respect,  must 
always  watch  over  her  children.  .  .  .  This  watchful¬ 

ness  over  the  young  child,  by  day  and  night,  is  the  first 
duty  to  be  universally  inculcated.  Two  things  are  neces¬ 
sary  in  order  to  fulfill  it  ;  viz.,  a  clear  knowledge  of  the 
evils  to  which  the  child  may  be  exposed,  and  tact  to  inter¬ 
pret  the  faintest  indication  of  danger,  and  to  guard  from 
it  without  allowing  the  child  to  be  aware  of  the  danger.”1 
Dr.  Elizabeth  Blackwell  adds,  in  a  note  in  the  Appendix, 
the  following  melancholy  considerations -“Terrible  in- 


1  Advice  to  Parents  on  the  Moral  Education  of  their  Children,  p.  85 
(Dr.  Elizabeth  Blackwell.' 


THE  SEXUAL  INSTINCT. 


59 


stances  of  this  may  he  seen  in  Trelat’s  medical  work,  ‘  La 
Folie  Lucide;  ’  and  Lallemand  and  other  French  surgeons 
report  numerous  cases  of  fatal  injury,  done  even  to  nursing 
infants,  by  the  wicked  actions  of  unprincipled  nurses.  I 
have  myself  traced  the  ill-health  of  children  in  wealthy 
families  to  the  habits  practiced  by  confidential  nurses,  ap¬ 
parently  quite  respectable  women!  Abundant  medical 
testimony  confirms  these  observations.”1 


.'Id.,  Ibid.  Appendix. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  SENTIMENTS. 

I  cannot  resign  myself  to  seeing  in  a  little  child,  even 
when  only  a  few  days  old,  a  mere  machine  or  automaton. 
A  learned  man  to  whom  I  had  expounded,  without  con¬ 
vincing  him,  my  ideas  on  the  direction  that  should  he 
given  to  the  faculties  of  young  children,  sent  me  by  way 
of  refutation  the  following  description  of  his  infant  son, 
then  about  two  months  old: — “He  is  a  thorough  little  ani¬ 
mal,  voracious  to  excess,  and  never  quiet  except  when 
asleep  or  at  the  breast.  I  could  never  have  believed  that 
a  little  child  was  so  absolutely  an  animal,  with  no  other 
instincts  than  that  of  gluttony.  To  avoid  being  com¬ 
pletely  disgusted,  one  has  to  remind  oneself  that  in  a  few 
months  there  will  be  some  gleams  of  intelligence,  and  that 
the  creature  will  begin  to  show  some  likeness  to  a  human 
being.”  All  at  once,  I  suppose!  By  one  knows  not  what 
miracle  of  nature !  My  friend  received  from  me  a  variety 
of  further  observations  which,  however,  had  no  greater  suc¬ 
cess.  He  wrote  again:  “I  believe  still  in  the  pure  ani¬ 
malism  of  the  infant,  and  to  give  a  real  idea  of  the  vorac¬ 
ity  of  this  age,  I  can  only  compare  it  to  a  larva,  always 
eating  without  pause  or  rest.”  Setting  aside  for  the  moment 
some  details  which  appear  to  me  to  be  doubly  calumnious, 
both  towards  children  and  animals,  I  must  allow  that  my 
friend  has  well  observed  and  well  described  the  state  of  a 
young  child  subject  to  the  tyrannical  need  of  food.  M. 
Luys  has  observed  the  same  state  of  things;  but  he,  like 
myself,  has  also  observed  something  further,  and  this 


THE  SENTIMENTS. 


61 


something  is  of  the  greatest  importance:  “His  organic 
appetites  are  gratified  by  the  milk  he  sucks,  and  he  feeds 
himself  organically,  like  an  organic  cell,  which  borrows 
from  the  surrounding  medium  the  materials  which  suit  it. 
But  at  the  same  time  he  expresses  the  satisfaction  he  feels 
in  his  own  manner;  he  smiles  on  seeing  the  breast  which 
yields  him  his  nourishment  and  life,  and  from  that  time 
his  natural  sensibility  is  thrown  into  agitation,  his  senso- 
riuni  is  affected.  He  rejoices  because  he  remembers,  be¬ 
cause  he  has  retained  a  memory  of  the  satisfaction  of  his 
physical  appetites.”1 

Sentiments  connected  with  Taste. — A  child’s  most  vivid 
sentiments  are  for  a  long  time  after  its  birth  those  con¬ 
nected  with  the  sense  of  taste.  The  need  of  nourishment 
dominates  for  a  long  time  over  all  the  others,  even  that  of 
movement;  it  manifests  itself  the  first  and  is  the  most 
persistent.  The  emotions  connected  with  this  incessant 
and  imperious  want  are  the  most  agreeable  ones  that 
children  experience.  It  is  through  the  satisfaction  of 
their  appetite  that  they  learn  to  know  and  to  love  first  of 
all  the  breast  they  suck,  or  their  feeding-bottle,  and 
secondly  the  hands,  the  face,  the  voice,  the  eyes,  the 
smiles,  the  caresses,  the  entire  person  of  their  nurse  or 
mother.  Their  first  affections  are  those  of  an  epicure; 
their  first  feelings  of  gratitude  are  awakened  by  the 
stomach ;  they  test  their  first  tactile  experiences,  as  much 
as  possible,  by  the  sense  of  taste.  If  one  puts  an  object 
of  any  kind  into  the  hands  of  a  child  of  six  months,  he 
will  touch  and  feel  it  for  a  few  seconds  without  seeming  to 
learn  much  from  the  tactile  impression,  and  then,  if  he  is 
strong  enough,  he  will  carry  it  to  his  mouth,  and  experi¬ 
ment  upon  it  with  the  organs  of  taste.  His  nurse’s  finger, 
a  bit  of  rag,  a  stick,  a  box,  fruit,  flowers,  etc.,  anything 
and  everything,  great  or  small,  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  all 
goes  up  to  the  mouth.  Pretty  to  look  at,  and  good  to  eat, 
are  synonymous  terms  to  babies;  a  pretty  picture,  the 
colors  of  which  first  attracted  it,  is  seized  hold  of,  and, 
like  everything  else,  put  into  the  mouth.  Even  after  they 


1  Luys,  Le  Cerveau  etses  Fonctions,  Eng.  Trans.,  p.  127. 


62  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


have  learnt  by  frequent  experiments  that  all  objects  have 
not  a  pleasant  taste,  they  only  mistrust,  at  first  sight, 
those  which  are  notoriously  offensive  to  them.  Later 
on,  after  the  age  of  four  months,  the  desire  to  stop  the 
itching  of  the  gums  becomes,  no  doubt,  an  additional 
reason  for  the  constant  movement  of  the  hands  to  the 
mouth ;  but  the  chief  cause  of  it  is  the  excessive  excitabil¬ 
ity  of  the  functions  of  taste,  and  of  the  ideas  and  senti¬ 
ments  connected  with  this  organ. 

The  sensations  of  joy  and  pain  connected  with  taste 
continue  to  be  the  dominant  ones  during  the  first 
months;  but  they  are  not  the  only  ones  that  children 
feel. 

Fear. — The  automatic  instinct  of  fear  exhibits  itself  in 
infants  from  the  very  first.  We  may  even,  moreover,  see 
obscure  manifestations  of  this  instinct  in  the  tremblings 
produced  in  the  foetus  by  any  sudden  terror  in  the  mother. 
A  lady  who  had  had  a  great  shock  three  months  before  the 
birth  of  her  child,  felt  the  child  move  convulsively  within 
her.  The  baby  only  lived  three  months ;  and  during  this 
time  it  used  frequently  to  give  those  violent  starts,  without 
any  external  cause,  which  characterize  excessive  fear. 
These  are  indisputably  the  effects  of  congenital  imagin¬ 
ativeness,  against  which  a  mother  and  those  around  her 
should  guard  as  much  as  possible. 

As  for  the  tremblings,  the  screams,  the  cessation  or 
precipitation  of  breathing,  which  are  common  symptoms 
of  fear  in  new-born  children,  their  cause  is  often  so  slight 
that  it  is  not  always  possible  to  foresee  or  prevent  them. 
Sudden  sounds  and  sights  of  all  sorts  clearly  distinguished, 
disturb  a  child’s  rest.  At  three  months,  and  even  earlier, 
the  mere  sight  of  a  strange  face  will  sometimes  so  agitate 
a  child  and  affect  its  breathing,  as  to  make  it  seem  on  the 
point  of  suffocation.  Darwin  has  noticed  signs  of  fear  in 
infants  during  the  first  weeks,  at  the  slightest  unexpected 
noise,  and  later  on  at  any  strange  noise  or  attitude.  He 
speaks  also  of  the  fear  felt  by  some  children  at  a  more 
advanced  age,  on  finding  themselves  in  the  dark;  but  he 
does  not  tell  us  whether  he  considers  this  tendency 
hereditary.  We  think,  however,  that  such  is  his  opinion, 


THE  SENTIMENTS. 


63 


for  lie  attributes  (what  to  my  mind  seems  exaggerated) 
the  fear  felt  by  his  child  in  the  Zoological  Gardens  at  the 
sight  of  large  animals  “  to  the  hereditary  effects  of  real 
dangers  and  abject  superstitions  which  prevailed  at  the 
period  of  savage  life.”  With  all  deference  for  the  opinions 
of  this  illustrious  physiologist,  I  cannot  help  asking 
whether  a  little  baby’s  fright  at  the  sight  of  an  enormous 
animal  may  not  be  partly  due  to  its  own  sense  of  com¬ 
parison;  and  whether  it  is  necessary  to  go  back  to  the 
experience  of  its  savage  ancestors  to  explain  this  particular 
manifestation  of  a  tendency  which  is  hereditary  only  in  so 
far  as  it  is  general. 

The  following  observation  of  Charles  Bell  may  no  doubt 
be  applied  to  the  age  of  six  or  seven  months :  — 

“  If  an  infant  be  laid  upon  the  arms  and  dandled  up 
and  down,  its  body  and  limbs  will  be  at  rest  as  it  is 
raised,  but  in  descending  it  will  struggle  and  make  efforts. 
Here  is  the  indication  of  a  sense,  an  innate  feeling,  of 
danger;  and  we  may  perceive  its  influence  when  the  child 
first  attempts  to  stand  or  run.  When  set  upon  its  feet, 
the  nurse’s  arms  forming  a  hoop  around  it,  without  touching 
it,  the  child  slowly  learns  to  balance  itself  and  stand;  but 
under  a  considerable  apprehension;  it  will  only  try  to 
stand  at  such  a  distance  from  the  nurse’s  knee,  that  if  it 
should  fall,  it  can  throw  itself  for  protection  into  her  lap. 
In  these  its  first  attempts  to  use  its  muscular  frame,  it  is 
directed  by  a  fear  which  cannot  as  yet  be  attributed  to 
experience.”1  If  a  child  tumbles  down  while  trying  to 
walk,  it  sometimes  gives  up  the  attempt  for  a  long 
time.  But  there  is  as  great  difference  in  this  respect 
in  individuals  of  the  human  race,  as  in  the  young  of 
animals. 

Like  little  children  in  their  first  efforts  at  difficult 
games,  or  in  their  first  gymnastic  exercises,  some  puppies 
exhibit  remarkable  boldness,  which  no  amount  of  tumbles 
can  overcome,  and  others  a  laughable  degree  of  cowardice 
and  prudence. 

Fright  is  less  often  caused  in  children  between  the  ages 


1  The  Hand,  p.  234. 


64  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


of  three  and  ten  months  by  visual  than  by  auditory  im¬ 
pressions  ;  with  kittens,  after  the  fifteenth  day,  the  reverse 
is  the  case.  A  child  of  three  and  a  half  months,  in  the 
midst  of  the  alarm  of  a  house  on  fire,  and  surrounded  by 
flames  and  tottering  walls,  showed  neither  astonishment 
nor  fear;  he  even  smiled  at  the  woman  who  was  taking 
care  of  him  and  keeping  watch  over  the  furniture  while 
waiting  for  his  parents.  But  the  sound  of  the  bugle,  and 
of  the  firemen  coming  up,  and  the  noise  of  the  engine 
wheels  made  him  tremble  and  cry.  I  have  never  seen  a 
child  at  this  age  startled  by  lightning,  however  vivid;  but 
I  have  seen  many  terrified  by  the  sound  of  thunder.  On 
this  point  my  observations  are  in  opposition  to  those  of 
Bosseau  and  Herbert  Spencer.  The  former  thinks  erron¬ 
eously,  with  Locke,  that  fear  is  a  sentiment  derived  from 
experience  of  hurtful  or  dangerous  things,  and  that,  in  the 
absence  of  very  startling  impressions,  it  does  not  become 
developed  in  children.  “I  have  noticed,”  fie  says,  “  that 
children  are  rarely  frightened  at  thunder,  at  least  if  the 
claps  are  not  too  violent,  and  do  not  hurt  the  ear;  other¬ 
wise  this  fear  does  not  disturb  them  until  they  have  learned 
to  associate  thunder  with  danger  and  possible  death.”  1 
Herbert  Spencer’s  opinion  is  as  follows:  — 

“  It  happens,  no  doubt,  that  a  child  may  be  seized  with 
terror  at  a  clap  of  thunder;  and  an  ignorant  person  will 
regard  a  comet  with  superstitious  terror.  But  claps  of 
thunder  and  comets  are  not  every-day  phenomena,  and  do 
not  form  part  of  the  usual  orders  of  things.  ” 2  The  fact 
is,  that  certain  children,  in  their  first  months,  are  fright¬ 
ened  by  certain  very  sharp  or  very  sonorous  sounds,  and 
above  all,  by  unusual  sounds.  It  is  also  true,  as  Locke 
and  Rosseau  have  observed,  that  the  more  a  child  becomes 
accustomed  to  any  sounds,  the  less  it  will  be  frightened  by 
them.  A  child  who  was  very  much  frightened  by  thunder 
at  the  age  of  six  months — say  in  May — would  not  be  so 
frightened  five  months  later,  at  the  end  of  September, 
having  heard  the  same  sound  several  times,  and  having 


]  Emile,  livre  I. 

2  Principles  of  Sociology,  vol.  i. 


THE  SENTIMENTS. 


65 


become  familiar  with  it.  But  at  a  still  later  age,  owing 
possibly  to  bad  training,  this  fear  will  reassert  its 
dominion. 

There  is  a  kind  of  natural  fear,  organic  and  hereditary, 
the  result  of  anterior  experiences,  and  which  is  a  safeguard 
to  the  young  infant  against  certain  very  real  dangers,  of 
which  it  has  not  yet  had  any  experience.  This  is  the  rea¬ 
son  why  fear  is  stronger  and  more  easily  excited  at  five 
years  old  than  at  three,  and  at  three  years  than  at  six 
months,  and  also  why  it  is  more  apt  to  be  aroused  in  little 
children  by  auditory  impressions  than  by  visual  ones.  The 
anterior  life  of  civilized  man  has  rather  predisposed  the 
race  to  listen  for  dangers  which  are  near  at  hand,  than  to 
be  on  the  lookout  for  distant  ones;  i.  e.,  the  ear  has  been 
more  trained  to  keep  watch  than  the  eye.  And  accord¬ 
ingly,  setting  aside  all  individual  susceptibilities,  which  are 
the  fruits  of  special  heredity,  we  find  that  in  the  inexperi¬ 
enced  infant  fear  is  excited  rather  through  the  ear  than  the 
eye.  It  is  natural  that  the  reverse  should  be  the  case  in 
animals,  so  organized  as  to  perceive  danger  from  afar. 
Thus,  though  I  have  never  come  across  a  child  who  was 
frightened  at  the  first  sight  of  fire,  I  have  found  the  con¬ 
trary  to  be  the  case  in  several  kinds  of  domestic  animals — 
dogs,  cats,  chickens  and  birds,  for  instance.  A  chicken 
found  lying  half  dead  in  the  garden  was  brought  indoors 
and  placed  near  the  fire;  and,  in  spite  of  its  feeble  condi¬ 
tion,  it  quickly  hopped  away  from  it.  It  was  brought  back 
again  and  placed  on  a  stool,  and  after  a  good  deal  of  coax¬ 
ing  and  petting  it  began  to  lose  all  fear,  shut  its  eyes  and 
fell  asleep.  It  was  then  left  to  itself;  and  whether  that  it 
was  too  feeble  to  fly  away,  or  that  it  had  become  happy  in 
its  new  situation,  it  remained  perfectly  still  there  all  the 
rest  of  the  day  and  the  following  night.  The  next  day  it 
had  quite  recovered,  but  it  came  back  of  its  own  accord  to 
take  up  its  position  on  the  footstool.  For  several  years 
past  I  have  given  a  home  to  a  stray  cat.  She  was  about 
a  year  old  when  I  first  took  her  in.  A  few  months  after, 
when  the  cold  weather  set  in,  I  lighted  a  fire  in  my  study, 
which  is  also  the  cat’s  sitting  room.  At  first  puss  looked 
at  the  flames  with  a  frightened  expression.  I  made  her 
6 


G6  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


come  near  the  fire,  but  she  bounded  away  and  hid  herself. 
I  had  a  fire  in  the  room  every  day,  hut  it  was  not  until 
towards  the  end  of  the  winter  that  I  could  induce  the  cat  to 
remain  on  a  chair  near  it.  By  the  following  winter,  how¬ 
ever,  her  fears  had  disappeared,  and  she  would  as  a  mat¬ 
ter  of  course  seat  herself  on  a  chair  in  front  of  the  fire. 
Noise  of  any  description  at  once  puts  her  on  her  guard — 
with  her  eyes,  not  with  her  ears;  the  sound  of  thunder  or 
of  a  heavy  wagon  causes  her  to  look  up  suddenly  at  the 
ceiling,  and  then  to  listen  at  the  window;  the  reason  of 
this  is,  that  the  shadows  of  objects  passing  along  the  street 
in  the  evening  often  flit  across  the  ceiling  of  my  room, 
as  I  only  have  my  shutters  half  closed.  The  conclusion, 
then,  that  we  arrive  at  is,  that  there  are  predispositions  to 
fear  which  are  independent  of  all  experience,  hut  which 
the  gradual  accumulation  of  experience  lessens  very  con¬ 
siderably,  and  that  in  the  case  of  children  they  are  chiefly 
connected  with  the  sense  of  hearing. 

Anger. — During  the  first  weeks  of  existence  children’s 
instinctive  mode  of  expressing  the  pain  which  any  object 
inflects  on  them  seems  to  consist  only  in  screams  and 
movements  of  resistance.  But  when  about  two  months 
old,  they  begin  to  push  away  objects  that  they  do  not  like, 
and  have  real  fits  of  passion,  frowning,  growing  red  in  the 
face,  trembling  all  over,  and  sometimes  shedding  tears. 
At  three  months  old,  they  begin  to  experience  the  feeling 
of  jealousy,  which  is  shown  in  tears,  screams  and  contor¬ 
tions,  if  one  pretends  to  be  going  to  take  away  their  feed¬ 
ing  bottle  or  any  other  object  of  their  affections.  They 
also  become  very  much  irritated  if  they  cannot  at  once  get 
at  their  mother’s  breast,  or  when  being  washed,  or  having 
their  clothes  changed,  or  if  their  wishes  are  not  guessed 
and  satisfied  quickly  enough.  At  six  months  they  will 
scream  with  impatience  if  their  toys  are  taken  from  them. 
This  may  be  either  owing  to  an  inborn  instinct  of  proprie¬ 
torship,  or  because  of  the  amusement  which  their  toys 
afford  them. 

At  this  same  period  their  movements  and  cries  during 
sleep  appear  to  indicate  painful  dreams.  Towards  the  age 
of  one  year  their  anger  sometimes  exhibits  itself  in  hurtful 


THE  SENTIMENTS. 


G7 


actions  in  which  we  see,  so  to  speak,  the  germ  of  the  pas¬ 
sion  of  revenge.  They  will  beat  people,  animals,  and 
inanimate  objects  if  they  are  angry  with  them;  they  will 
throw  their  toys,  their  food,  their  plate,  anything,  in  short, 
that  is  at  hand,  at  the  people  who  have  displeased  them, 
or  simply  at  the  first  person  near,  when  it  is  the  objects 
that  have  caused  displeasure.  Thus  anger  has  its  origin, 
and  that  at  a  very  early  age,  both  in  simple  and  complex 
sentiments,  and  is  expressed  either  by  simple  and  auto¬ 
matic  actions  or  by  complex  ones  acquired  personally. 

If  the  theory  of  evolution  is  true,  it  is  necessary  for  the 
young  human  being  to  pass  through,  in  a  certain  grada¬ 
tion,  all  the  principal  stages  which  have  brought  his  ances¬ 
tors  from  animalism  up  to  the  first  beginnings  of  civiliza¬ 
tion.  It  is  but  natural  that  a  child  should  at  one  moment 
reproduce  this  ancestor,  at  another  resemble  that  savage, 
with  whom  many  would  identify  primitive  man.  Now, 
irascibility  is  one  of  the  special  characteristics  of  inferior 
races.  Irritability  and  impulsiveness  are,  with  few  excep¬ 
tions,  fundamental  traits  of  all  these  races. 

“Spite  of  their  usually  unimpassioned  behavior,  the 
Dakotahs  rise  into  frightful  states  of  bloody  fury  when 
killing  buffaloes;  and  among  the  phlegmatic  Creeks,  there 
are  “very  frequent  suicides,  caused  by  trifling  disappoint¬ 
ments.”  .  .  .  Passing  from  North  America  to  Asia, 

we  come  to  the  Kamtschadales ;  of  whom  we  read  that  they 
are  “excitable,”  not  to  say  (for  men)  hysterical.  A  light 
matter  set  them  mad,  or  made  them  commit  suicide.” 
.  .  .  Among  the  Negrittos  the  Papuan  is  “impetuous, 

excitable,  noisy;”  the  Fijians  have  “emotions  easily  roused 
but  transient.”  .  .  .  The  Tasmanians  “quickly  change 

from  smiles  to  tears.  ”  .  .  .  The  Fuegians  “have  hasty 

tempers,  and  are  loud  and  furious  talkers.”  “There  are 
the  Australians,  whose  impulsiveness  Sturt  implies  by  say¬ 
ing  that  the  ‘angry  Australian  jin  exceeds  the  European 
scold,’  and  that  a  man  ‘remarkable  for  haughtiness  and 
reserve,  sobbed  long  when  his  nephew  was  taken  from 
him.’  ” 1 


1  Herbert  Spencer,  Principles  of  Sociology,  pp.  G3,  etc. 


68  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


This  impulsiveness  and  irascibility  are  in  our  children 
legacies  inherited  from  our  primitive  ancestors;  they  are, 
as  it  were,  instinctive  weapons  of  defense,  and  native  in¬ 
struments  of  self-preservation.  It  appears  then  a  priori  to 
be  established,  that  systematic  evolution,  or  education, 
should  preserve  this  force  while  disciplining  it.  But  ex¬ 
perience  alone  can  teach  us  what  may  be  the  consequence, 
either  in  infancy  or  in  the  future,  of  combating  or  encour¬ 
aging  these  sentiments,  and  consequently  what  place  we 
shuld  allow  this  moral  factor  in  education. 

Anger  is  legitimate  in  young  children  when  it  expresses 
unconscious  revolt  against  the  first  sufferings  of  life — con¬ 
vulsions,  colic,  pains  of  teething,  discomfort  produced  by 
fever,  or  by  the  want  of  air,  of  locomotion,  or  of  sleep. 
The  screams  and  movements  in  which  they  vent  their 
anger  distract  and  relieve  them,  in  a  certain  measure, 
from  the  feeling  of  pain ;  and  to  the  parents  or  guardians 
of  the  child  they  are  warnings  dictated  by  nature  herself. 
In  like  manner,  when  a  child,  in  its  first  awkward  attempts 
at  speech,  has  given  a  wrong  idea  of  its  meaning,  it  is  quite 
justified  in  screaming,  beating  the  ground  with  its  foot, 
and  showing  indignation  at  being  so  badly  understood 
when  it  thought  it  had  spoken  so  well.  It  has  still  more 
right  to  be  angry,  when,  after  having  been  accustomed  by 
its  nurse  to  any  bad  habit,  such  as  being  rocked  to  sleep 
in  its  cradle  or  in  any  one’s  arms,  or  being  put  to  bed  with 
a  light  in  the  room,  these  habits  are  suddenly  discontinued; 
still  more  so  again,  when,  without  regard  for  its  delicate 
sensitiveness,  we  try  to  force  it  to  do  something  which, 
either  from  nature  or  habit,  is  repulsive  to  it,  such  as 
swallowing  a  bitter  draught,  or  undergoing  some  punish¬ 
ment  or  privation  without  complaining,  or  kissing  a  per¬ 
son  it  dislikes.  Another  case  mentioned  by  Rousseau,  in 
which  a  child’s  anger  is  perfectly  legitimate,  is  when  the 
nurse  beats  it  for  crying,  and,  an  additional  form  of  suffer¬ 
ing  being  thus  added  to  that  which  he  probably  experi¬ 
enced  before,  he  expresses  both  by  loud  screams  and  rage. 

There  are  also  certain  forms  of  impatience  which  be¬ 
token  a  frank  and  generous  character,  and  which  are 
closely  allied  with  the  budding  of  the  earliest  moral  vir- 


THE  SENTIMENTS. 


69 


tues.  A  young  child,  for  instance,  who  delights  in  walk¬ 
ing  alone,  although  at  the  risk  of  falling,  will  get  extremely 
angry  if  any  one  should  persist  in  trying  to  help  him.  At 
a  later  age,  again,  suppose  a  child  to  repeat  in  his  mother’s 
presence  some  foolish  joke  which  the  servants  had  always 
been  very  much  amused  at,  but  in  which  his  mother  sees 
nothing  to  laugh  at,  his  face  will  get  very  red  and  he  will 
close  his  lips  firmly,  evidently  feeling  that  he  has  exposed 
himself  to  ridicule  and  appearing  quite  irritated  with  him¬ 
self.  Again,  at  about  two  years  old,  when  a  child  is 
suddenly  punished  severely  by  some  person  who  had  before 
been  generally  indulgent  to  him,  he  will  fly  into  a  passion 
for  a  punishment  which  he  would  have  received  submis¬ 
sively  had  it  been  inflicted  by  his  parents.  Once  more,  if 
he  sees  two  children  fighting  in  the  street,  he  will  run  up 
to  them  with  clenched  fists  and  crimson  cheeks,  and  try  to 
separate  them.  Are  not  all  these  ebullitions  of  temper 
invaluable  guides  to  the  knowledge  of  a  child’s  character 
and  helps  in  its  moral  education? 

But  if  anger  has  its  good  sides,  its  use  and  justification, 
it  has  also  its  evils  and  abuses.  It  is  often  the  outcome  of 
caprice,  jealousy,  hatred — of  all  the  hostile  passions,  com¬ 
bativeness,  destructiveness,  and  vengeance.  It  is  the  two- 
edged  sword  of  human  wickedness,  which  wounds  the 
striker  as  well  as  the  victim.  If  indulged  in  too  frequently, 
it  will  injure  the  moral  and  physical  development  of  the 
child,  who  ought  always  to  be  surrounded  by  an  atmos¬ 
phere  of  peaceful  serenity,  and  in  whom  we  should 
endeavor  to  maintain  calmness  and  tranquillity  of  spirit. 
Outbursts  of  anger  may  have  specially  disastrous  effects 
on  children  predisposed  to  convulsive  maladies  at  an  age 
when  the  muscular  system  is  not  sufficiently  developed  to 
counteract  shocks  to  the  nervous  system.  What  is  more 
likely  to  hinder  the  growth  of  good-humor  or  docility  in  a 
child,  than  the  habit  of  getting  irritated  at  the  slightest 
cause — because  an  object  he  tries  to  take  hold  of  slips  out 
of  his  hands,  or  because  he  is  given  something  to  eat  or  to 
play  with  that  he  does  not  like,  or  because  a  stranger 
speaks  to  him  or  kisses  him?  What  less  pleasing  spectacle 
can  there  be,  than  that  of  a  pretty  little  child  a  year  or  two 


70  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


old,  who  habitually  vents  its  anger  on  the  furniture,  the 
hooks,  flowers,  fruit  or  food,  the  cat  or  the  dog,  its  nurses, 
or  even  its  parents'? 

I  have  seen  a  capricious  little  creature  eleven  months 
old  put  herself  in  a  violent  temper  because  she  could  not 
succeed  in  seizing  hold  of  her  grandfather’s  nose !  Another 
child  I  know  of  had  a  beautiful  doll,  of  which  she  was  very 
fond;  her  parents  took  her  once'  with  them  to  Cauterets, 
and  on  getting  out  of  the  carriage  she  saw  another  child 
with  a  doll  just  like  her  own;  instantly  there  were  screams 
and  paroxysms  of  rage !  She  flew  upon  the  child,  scratched 
her,  beat  her,  and  bit  her;  and  she  had  to  be  carried  away 
by  force.  Her  fury  was  so  great  that  she  was  quite  ill 
from  it  for  several  days.  Another  little  girl  of  the  same 
age  had  such  fits  of  passion  every  evening  when  her  mother 
was  putting  her  to  bed,  that  the  neighbors  would  some¬ 
times  come  in  and  help  to  quiet  her.  There  was  one 
person  whom  she  specially  dreaded,  and  the  sight  of  whom 
was  sufficient  to  quiet  her:  this  was  a  gentleman  with  a 
loud  voice  and  a  long  beard,  who  sometimes  whipped  her 
in  her  cot.  A  little  boy  fifteen  months  old  used  to  bite 
his  mother  when  she  put  him  to  bed.  Another  child, 
three  years  old,  who  had  been  sent  away  from  the  dining¬ 
room  on  account  of  his  naughty  behavior,  came  back  soon 
after  and  laid  himself  down  on  the  floor  across  the  door¬ 
way,  throwing  out  his  arms  and  legs,  and  screaming  at  the 
top  of  his  voice. 

Having  thus  pointed  out  the  use  and  the  abuse  of  anger, 
it  seems  to  me  that  we  may,  on  a  posteriori  as  well  as  on  a 
priori  grounds,  place  this  passion  among  that  class  of 
animal  sentiments  which  it  would  be  waste  of  time  to  en¬ 
deavor  to  exterminate,  but  which  need  to  be  carefully 
directed  and  controlled.  We  should  recognize  in  the  pas¬ 
sionate  temper  one  of  the  most  fruitful  principles  of  human 
activity,  one  which,  if  united  with  sympathy,  will  lead  to 
acts  of  self-devotion  and  may  help  in  the  formation  of 
moral  habits  by  obliging  the  child  to  examine  himself  and 
his  own  actions,  or  by  inspiring  him,  as  far  as  his  tender 
age  permits,  with  a  germ  of — 

.  .  ces  liaines  vigoureuses 

Que  doit  donner  le  vice  aux  ames  genereuses. 


THE  SENTIMENTS. 


71 


Jealousy. — Tlie  instinct  of  jealousy,  common  to  all 
animals,  hut  unequally  distributed  amongst  individuals  of 
the  same  species,  manifests  itself  in  very  different  ways 
and  circumstances.  It  is  not  always  the  sign  of  very 
acute  sensibility  or  of  strong  personality,  for  it  shows  itself 
very  markedly  in  young  children  and  in  adults  of  a  calm 
and  equable  temperament.  Sometimes  it  will  burst  into 
flame,  like  latent  fire.  Sometimes  it  smoulders  on  like 
burning  ashes.  Love  and  affection  are  its  most  violent 
excitants ;  but  any  trifling  cause  may  also  give  rise  to  it. 
A  cat  or  a  dog  will  be  jealous  of  each  other  about  their 
food,  or  about  a  favorite  place,  a  plaything,  or  a  caress. 
A  sparrow  tamed  by  a  lady  was  jealous  of  the  cats  when 
its  mistress  fondled  them,  and  of  the  visitors  who  came  to 
see  her;  its  attitudes  and  cries  plainly  betokened  this.  In 
like  manner  a  child  will  show  jealousy  if  any  one  ap¬ 
proaches  its  nurse,  or  touches  its  bottle,  or  is  caressed  by 
its  mother.  A  child  of  fifteen  months  was  evidently 
jealous  if  sugar  or  dessert  was  given  to  its  nurse. 

This  feeling  is  roused  by  very  different  objects,  and  is 
sometimes  confounded  with  envy  and  the  desire  of  appro¬ 
priation  and  imitation.  Children  often  want  things  not 
so  much  for  the  sake  of  having  and  enjoying  them,  as  be¬ 
cause  they  do  not  like  to  see  them  in  the  possession  of 
others.  And  what  applies  to  things  applies  also  to  persons. 
A  child  of  fifteen  months  used  to  enact  very  curious  little 
scenes  out  of  jealousy.  If  his  father  and  mother  kissed 
each  other  in  his  presence,  he  would  run  up  and  try  to 
separate  them,  scolding  and  pushing  away  his  father,  who 
was  by  no  means  the  favorite.  The  same  child,  at  this 
age,  could  never  see  anything  in  anybody  else’s  hand  with¬ 
out  asking  for  it,  or  trying  to  touch  or  take  hold  of  it; 
nothing  could  ever  be  done  in  his  presence,  without  his 
wanting  to  meddle  in  it.  In  the  kitchen  he  must  have  a 
knife,  or  something  like  a  knife,  and  pretend  to  be  at  work 
with  the  parings  of  the  vegetables  while  the  servant  is  pre¬ 
paring  the  dinner.  When  Lis  older  brother  is  writing,  he 
insists  on  having  a  high  chair  at  the  table  and  some  paper 
and  a  pen,  and  then  he  fancies  that  he  is  doing  the  same 
as  his  brother;  once  he  gravely  asked  for  his  father’s  razor, 


72  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD, 


that  he  too  might  shave.  Thus  we  see  that  the  proprietary 
and  imitative  tendencies  enter  largely  into  the  displays  of 
envy  and  jealousy. 

Fathers,  by  the  way,  need  not  he  troubled  by  the  prefer¬ 
ence  their  little  children  generally  show  for  their  mother 
or  nurse.  This  is  quite  natural,  and  more  favorable  than 
otherwise  to  their  moral  and  intellectual  development. 
Mothers,  on  their  part,  need  not  be  unduly  distressed  at 
the  inconstancy  of  their  little  hearts.  They  will  right 
themselves  in  time,  provided  the  parents  do  their  duty  by 
their  children;  and  manifestations  of  jealousy  in  either 
father  or  mother  would  be  a  very  bad  example  to  a  child. 

There  is  always,  no  doubt,  a  little  self-love,  if  not  van¬ 
ity,  mixed  up  with  the  jealousy  a  child  feels  towards  its 
brothers  and  sisters,  especially  with  regard  to  the  marks 
of  tenderness  and  attention  which  are  shown  them.  Tiede- 
mann  says  of  his  son,  at  the  age  of  twenty-two  months, 
“Jealousy  and  vanity  became  stronger  and  stronger;  if  any 
one  praised  his  little  sister,  he  instantly  came  up  to  be 
praised  also ;  he  always  endeavored  to  get  away  from  her 
whatever  had  been  given  her,  and  he  would  even  hit  her 
on  the  sly.”  When  this  little  sister  was  born,  the  boy  had 
shown  signs  of  displeasure;  he  wanted  to  beat  her  when¬ 
ever  he  saw  her  on  his  mother’s  lap  or  in  his  own  cot, 
because  it  was  disagreeable  to  him  to  see  anything  which 
he  had  possessed  exclusively  for  some  time  taken  away 
from  him. 

One  of  my  nephews,  at  the  age  of  three  years,  used  con¬ 
tinually  to  talk  of  the  little  brother  he  was  soon  to  have. 
“I  shall  love  him  so  much,”  he  would  say  at  every  instant. 
But  when  he  saw  the  baby  taking  up  his  mother’s  lap  and 
kisses  and  caresses,  and  his  father’s  care  and  attention,  he 
expressed  his  annoyance  loudly.  He  even  said  to  his 
mother  one  day:  “Won’t  little  Ferdinand  soon  die?” 
When  the  baby  began  to  walk  and  talk,  the  elder  child 
would  torment  him  in  hundreds  of  naughty  ways,  beating 
him,  dragging  him  out  of  his  chair  in  order  to  take  his 
place,  shouting  in  his  ears,  calling  him  naughty  and  ugly, 
taking  away  his  toys,  and  mimicking  his  way  of  talking 
and  walking. 


THE  SENTIMENTS. 


73 


Sentiments  of  various  kinds. — When  experience  lias  taught 
a  young  child  to  know  a  certain  number  of  objects  as  hav¬ 
ing  the  power  to  afford  him  pleasant  or  painful  sensations 
of  sight  or  touch,  his  waking  hours  begin  to  he  more  and 
more  divided  between  his  meals  and  his  playthings.  To 
the  instinct  of  hunger  or  greediness,  still  dominant  hut  no 
longer  exclusive,  there  are  now  added  fresh  wants,  which 
the  Scotch  call  intellectual,  because  they  imply  a  certain 
growth  of  the  intelligence. 

Here  is  a  child  of  eight  months,  of  ordinary  intelligence. 
He  is  interested  in  a  number  of  objects  which  have  noth¬ 
ing  to  do  with  his  palate,  and  which  he  only  carries  to  his 
mouth  accidentally.  These  objects  are  instruments  of  play 
and  study  for  the  child.  He  handles  them,  turns  them 
round  and  round,  knocks  them  down,  sets  them  up  again, 
throws  them  away,  fetches  them  back,  crawls  after  them 
on  all  fours  when  they  are  out  of  his  reach,  knocks  them 
one  against  the  other,- puts  them  inside  each  other,  thrusts 
his  hands  into  them,  piles  them  up  in  heaps  and  then 
knocks  them  down;  in  short,  disports  himself  with  them 
and  learns  from  them  in  a  thousand  different  ways.  Sight 
and  touch,  which  before  seemed  generally  mere  auxiliaries 
of  taste,  now  act  on  their  own  account;  the  original  syn¬ 
thetic  condition  of  the  functions  has  now  given  place  to  an 
analytic  condition  which  gains  daily  in  strength  and  deli¬ 
cacy;  the  concentric  circles  of  sensations,  perceptions, 
judgments,  sentiments,  go  on  expanding;  and  henceforth 
my  friend  the  savant  is  able  to  admire  the  little  animal, 
who  rises  day  by  day  and  horn  by  hour  to  the  level  of  a 
little  man. 

Take  another  child  of  eleven  months.  He  is  passion¬ 
ately  fond  of  his  bottle,  which  is  for  him  the  embodiment 
of  exquisite  enjoyment;  but  he  has  made  acquaintance 
with  a  certain  number  of  other  eatables — soup,  bread,  meat, 
cakes,  fruit,  etc. — which  he  seems  to  like  as  much  as  his 
first  food.  However,  when  his  appetite  is  satisfied,  and 
he  is  taken  back  to  his  toys,  one  sees  that  he  enjoys  them 
just  as  much,  if  not  in  the  same  manner,  as  he  did  eating 
and  drinking.  He  shows  the  same  desire  to  seize  hold  of 
them,  the  same  attraction  towards  them,  the  same  distress 


74  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


if  they  are  taken  away;  his  expressions,  gestures,  and  atti¬ 
tudes  of  delight  prove  that  they  afford  him  equally  agree¬ 
able  sensations.  Then  again  I  perceive  that  he  shows  love 
for  his  mother,  his  nurse,  his  sisters,  his  aunt — in  fact, 
for  all  the  people  who  feed,  pet,  talk  to,  and  amuse  him. 
Moreover,  there  are  evidently  different  degrees  in  his  affec¬ 
tion.  He  seems  more  jdeased  to  go  to  the  arms  of  his 
mother  or  nurse  than  to  his  little  sister,  who  hugs  him  so 
awkwardly  that  she  sometimes  makes  him  cry,  or  to  his 
aunt,  who  means  to  he  very  loving  and  caressing,  but  who 
does  not  look  so,  and  who,  in  addition  to  a  repelling  coun¬ 
tenance,  has  a  shrill  voice.  This  child  brightens  up  at  the 
sight  of  a  young  or  pretty  face,  but  shows  very  little  inter¬ 
est  in  old  or  ugly  ones,  or  faces  covered  with  veils.  His 
affections  vary  according  to  the  nature  of  objects  and  the 
sensations  they  afford  him,  and  according  to  the  character, 
manners,  and  actions  of  different  persons ;  he  has  also  his 
dislikes,  both  for  persons  and  for  things.  He  gets  exas¬ 
perated  when  a  little  neighbor,  seven  years  old,  who  has 
played  him  several  tricks  and  made  faces  at  him,  comes  up 
to  him  to  kiss  him.  One  of  his  uncles  often  brings  with 
him  a  little  black  dog,  much  given  to  barking;  and  the 
mere  sight  of  this  animal  distresses  the  child.  Soap  and 
water,  and  towels,  the  rod,  and  the  enema  syringe,  he 
looks  upon  as  personal  enemies.  Inanimate  objects  have 
a  large  share  in  the  sentiments  of  little  children.  The 
pleasure  and  the  pain  which  these  objects  cause  to  some  of 
his  senses  are  *the  germ  of  all  these  affections  and  repul¬ 
sions.  But  curiosity  and  the  incessant  need  of  new  and 
vivid  emotions  are  his  stimulants,  and  furnish  daily  food 
for  his  affective  sensibility. 

The  affections  of  a  child,  however,  like  the  curiosity 
which  excites  them,  are  very  transitory.  They  glide  from 
object  to  object,  from  person  to  person.  Owing  to  their 
ignorance  and  feeble  power  of  attention,  they  are  unable 
to  occupy  themselves  long  with  one  person  or  object  which 
cannot  vary  and  be  metamorphosed  every  instant  to  suit 
their  restless  curiosity.  Here  is  a  child  of  ten  months. 
He  confuses  flowers  with  other  inanimate  objects;  a  piece 
of  rose-colored  paper  excites  in  him  as  vivid  and  durable 


THE  SENTIMENTS. 


75 


a  feeling  of  curiosity  and  pleasure  as  would  a  beautiful 
rose.  When  I  sniff  a  rose  in  his  presence,  and  invite  him 
to  imitate  me,  saying  to  him,  “It  smells  so  nice,”  he  draws 
in  his  breath  and  looks  pleased,  showing  that  he  is  sensi¬ 
ble  of  the  sweet  smell  of  the  rose;  but  the  sensations 
which  perfumes  excite  in  us  are  so  quickly  effaced  that  the 
artificial  habits  of  adults  are  necessary  in  order  to  appre¬ 
ciate  them,  and  to  like  flowers  for  the  sake  of  their  smells. 
These  subtle  charms,  so  keenly  enjoyed  by  grown-up  peo¬ 
ple,  soon  cease  for  children.  With  regard  to  these  fragile 
works  of  nature,  their  pleasure  is  still  more  fragile,  espe¬ 
cially  when  they  hold  them  in  their  hands.  They  will 
jump  with  delight  at  first  seeing  and  smelling  them,  but 
will  very  soon  leave  them  for  something  else.  The  infant 
organization,  more  feeble  than  our  own,  is  subject,  almost 
without  exception,  to  the  law  of  nature  according  to  which 
the  most  vivid  sensations  are  the  least  enduring.  This  is 
the  reason  why  objects  which  excite  in  children  sensations 
keenly  painful  or  pleasant,  never  please  or  distress  them 
for  any  length  of  time.  ■ 

Animal  Sympathy. — Animate  objects  have  rather  more 
power  than  inanimate  ones  of  arresting  the  attention  and 
awakening  curiosity,  and  hence  of  exciting  the  emotions 
of  children.  Dogs,  cats,  sheep,  birds,  chickens — all  these 
creatures  are  par  excellence  their  objects  of  recreation, 
instruction,  and  affection.  And  it  is  not  strange  that  it 
should  be  so.  They  afford  all  the  gratifications  of  sight 
and  hearing  combined,  all  the  various  pleasures  of  touch, 
and  that  latent  voluptuousness  which  follows  the  satisfac¬ 
tion  of  the  appetite  of  movement.  Added,  also,  to  the 
perpetual  renewal  of  curiosity  excited  by  these  animals, 
are  the  no  less  powerful  influences  of  animal  sympathy. 
How  intense  is  a  child’s  delight  when  almost  strangling 
one  of  these  good-natured  creatures  in  its  eager  grasp.  It 
seems  like  its  own  life,  its  own  personality,  vibrating  in 
those  organs  which  beat  with  the  same  movements  as  his 
own.  This  feeling,  which  is  hereditary  rather  than 
acquired  by  sympathy,  sometimes  has  phases  of  superior 
excitation;  the  games,  the  caresses,  the  screams  of  delight, 
the  gentle  purrings,  the  wailings  and  moans  of  a  cat  or  a 


76  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


dog,  all  this  combination  of  sympathetic  sensations  stimu¬ 
late  the  curiosity  and  excite  to  the  highest  pitch  the  affec¬ 
tions  produced  by  the  increased  gratification  of  the  senses 
of  sight,  hearing,  touch,  and  movement  which  the  presence 
of  these  animals  affords  children. 

This  sympathy  for  animals,  however,  does  not  include 
moral  sympathy.  The  child  of  a  neighbor  of  mine,  who 
is  two  months  old,  and  who  plays  all  day  long  with  the 
cat  and  the  dog,  loves  these  animals  more  for  its  own  sake 
than  for  theirs,  i.e.,  for  the  pleasure  they  afford  him.  It 
does  not  seem  to  occur  to  him  that  these  creatures  can  also 
suffer  and  enjoy.  Their  gambols,  their  happy  hark  or  mew 
delight  him;  their  cries  of  anger  or  pain  frighten  and  dis¬ 
tress  him,  and  that  is  about  all.  The  dog  being  more  good- 
natured  than  the  cat,  there  is  no  trial  to  which  this  child 
will  not  subject  its  patience;  I  have  seen  him  pull  him  by 
the  tail,  by  the  paws,  by  the  ears,  and  even  bite  his  tail, 
thrust  all  sorts  of  things  into  his  jaws,  throw  all  his  toys 
on  him,  drop  a  chair  down  upon  him,  or  beat  him  with  his 
wooden  spade,  etc.,  etc.  The  other  day,  the  nurse  seated 
this  child  on  the  lawn,  and  put  a  tortoise  near  him  to 
amuse  him.  At  first  he  looked  at  the  animal  with  great 
curiosity,  and  seeing  this,  the  nurse  left  him  alone  for  a 
moment;  on  her  return  the  tortoise  had  one  leg  half  torn 
off,  and  this  enthusiastic  student  of  natural  history  was 
occupied  in  pulling  off  another  with  all  his  strength.  This 
insensibility  to  the  suffering  of  animals,  unless  it  is  very 
evident  to  the  eye  or  ear,  is  very  common  in  children,  and 
even  in  a  great  number  of  adults ;  but  it  is  due  to  a  faulty 
education,  rather  than  to  a  defect  in  natural  sensibility. 
I  have  often  heard  ignorant,  uneducated,  people  assert 
that  such  and  such  animals  or  insects  could  not  feel  pain. 
And  have  not  the  extreme  advocates  of  the  automatism  of 
beasts, — Malebranclie  among  others,— positively  declared 
that  they  do  not  feel?  It  is  remarkable,  moreover,  that  a 
learned  man,  the  celebrated  Lamarck,  one  of  the  precursors 
of  Darwin,  has  distinguished  a  part  of  the  animal  kingdom 
by  the  name  of  apathetic  animals. 

Hitman  Sympathy. — A  child  of  twelve  months  who  came 
back  to  his  father’s  house  after  a  month’s  absence,  took  no 


THE  SENTIMENTS. 


77 


notice  of  the  purrings  and  caresses  with  which  his  old 
friend  the  cat  welcomed  him  home.  He  hardly  noticed  the 
dog  either,  though  he  had  been  in  the  liahit  of  seeing  him 
every  day,  and  had  sometimes  been  allowed  to  play  with 
him,  and  used  to  repeat  his  name.  It  took  him  ten  min¬ 
utes  or  more  to  recover  his  familiarity  with  either  of  them. 
Scarcely,  however,  did  he  catch  sight  of  the  faithful  old 
servant — before  even  she  had  called  him  by  his  name — 
than  he  held  out  his  arms  to  her,  starting  and  jumping 
with  delight.  The  fact  is,  that  though  children  often 
seem  to  love  cats  and  dogs  as  much  as  their  parents  or 
nurse,  they  forget  animals  much  faster  than  people.  A 
rather  older  child  remembers  animals  much  better,  and 
will  even  speak  of  them  constantly  when  away  from  them. 
But  I  think  that  in  general  the  affection  they  feel  for 
people  is  of  a  deeper  nature.  Setting  aside  the  tendencies 
to  human  sympathy  which  are  the  result  of  organization 
and  heredity,  man  is  always  necessary  to  man ;  and  this  is 
especially  the  case  with  the  little  child,  that  “etre  ondoijant 
ct  divers,”  the  subject  of  ever  new  curiosity,  always  seek¬ 
ing  fresh  gratification.  A  little  child  hangs,  in  the  full 
sense  of  the  word,  on  the  looks,  words,  and  actions  of  the 
human  beings  around  him.  Human  speech  is  in  itself, 
apart  from  the  ideas  and  sentiments  it  expresses,  a  music, 
of  which  the  rhythm  and  the  intonations  correspond  to 
the  ffisthetic  faculties  of  a  little  child.  The  ever-changing 
expression  of  the  eye  lends  a  further  charm  to  this  delight¬ 
ful  music.  The  eye  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  and 
attractive  of  objects;  the  vivacity  of  the  pupil  set  in  its 
oval  background  of  white,  its  sparkles,  its  darts  of  light, 
its  tender  looks,  its  liquid  depths,  attract  and  fascinate  a 
young  child,  like  the  roundness  and  the  shifting  patterns 
of  a  beautiful  agate:  it  is  a  source  of  perpetual  enchant¬ 
ment.  Although  children  may  not  be  subtly  sensible  to 
all  the  delicate  impressions  produced  by  beauty,  graceful 
figures,  pleasant  faces  and  manners,  cannot  but  have  a 
powerful  attraction  for  them.  The  play  of  the  human 
countenance,  moreover,  so  strongly  affects  the  organiza¬ 
tion  of  sensitive  beings,  that  even  animals  who  do  not  live 
habitually  in  the  company  of  human  beings  will  endeavor 


78  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


to  find  out  its  meaning.  And  all  these  objects  of  intense 
and  incessant  curiosity  are  associated  in  a  child’s  mind 
-with  the  ideas  of  caresses,  games,  affection,  pleasure, 
nourishment,  i.  e.,  all  the  pleasures,  moral,  intellectual, 
and  physical,  that  they  ha  ve  experienced. 

One  sees  in  children,  especially  towards  the  age  of  ten 
months,  sudden  fancies  for  new  faces  which  it  is  not 
always  easy  to  explain.  A  young  relation  of  mine,  eleven 
months  old,  came  once  on  a  visit  to  my  family.  On  first 
seeing  me,  his  father  being  present  at  the  time,  he  called 
me,  “Papa,  Papa.”  I  held  out  my  hand  to  him  and  he 
seized  hold  of  my  fingers  and  dragged  me  along,  saying: 

“  Papa,  men'e,  mene.”  I  at  once  understood  that  he  wanted 
me  to  help  him  to  walk,  and  to  his  great  delight  I  grati¬ 
fied  his  wish.  During  the  whole  week  that  he  remained 
with  us  he  continued  to  show  a  marked  preference  for  me 
over  every  one  else.  He  would  often  leave  his  mother, 
and  his  father  still  oftener,  to  come  to  me.  Often  at 
meals,  when  he  was  on  his  mother’s  lap  at  a  considerable 
distance  from  me,  he  would  fix  his  eyes  on  me,  say,  “Papa, 
papa,”  and  then  slip  from  his  mother’s  lap  and  scramble 
on  all  fours  under  the  table  to  my  feet,  in  the  hopes  that 
I  should  take  him  up.  Sudden  affection  of  this  sort 
deserved  to  be  examined  into,  and  I  believe  that  I  found 
the  key  to  the  mystery.  On  the  day  of  his  arrival,  seeing 
me  smoking  a  cigar,  he  began  to  puff  vigorously  as  if  he 
were  blowing  smoke  through  his  lips.  Now  he  goes 
through  this  performance  with  his  grandfather;  the  latter, 
moreover,  whom  he  also  calls  papa,  has  a  long  beard  like 
mine.  It  was  no  doubt  these  points  of  resemblance,  and 
possibly  some  others,  such  as  likeness  in  manner,  figure, 
and  voice,  which  caused  me  to  become  at  once  the  depos¬ 
itory  of  the  affection  before  bestowed  on  his  grandfather. 
Now,  however,  he  has  learnt  to  like  me  for  myself,  or 
rather,  I  should  say,  because  of  the  games  I  have  played 
with  him,  and  which  he  cannot  enjoy  without  me. 

,  Human  beings  are  thus  the  objects  of  children’s  most 
marked  affections,  as  they  seem  also  to  be  of  tame  animals. 
It  is  seldom,  however,  that  a  child  manifests  its  sentiments 
with  a  sufficient  degree  of  energy  to  merit  the  name  of 


THE  SENTIMENTS. 


79 


passion.  Exalted  love — so-called  passion— is  the  charac¬ 
teristic  of  the  adult.  It  implies  an  element  of  reflection, 
though  not  perhaps  always  reasonable,  and  a  strong 
impulse  of  the  will,  though  not  always  regulated;  and 
these  elements  are  wanting  in  young  children.  They  have 
no  such  things  as  passions,  but,  like  animals,  they  have 
attachments  and  habits.  As  regards  sympathy,  properly 
so  called,  we  must  not  look  for  anything  more  in  them 
than  the  germ  of  this  sentiment.  A  young  child  has  not 
yet  made  sufficient  trial  of  the  good  and  evil  of  life  to  be 
able  to  imagine  them  in  his  fellow-creatures.  He  does  not 
sufficiently  understand  the  full  signification  of  the  facts 
which  he  observes,  he  does  not  possess  in  a  sufficiently 
high  degree  the  faculty  of  induction  and  judgment  for  his 
sensibility  to  be  affected  by  the  external  manifestations  of 
complex  sentiments.  He  does  not  experience  those  moral 
sufferings  which,  for  the  adult,  are  often  far  harder  to 
bear  than  any  physical  pain.  He  may  suffer  from  the 
deprivation  of  a  beloved  person  or  object,  but  he  does  not 
say  to  himself  that  he  suffers.  Suffering  is  only  connected 
in  his  mind  with  tears  and  groans. 

This  period  of  life,  so  full  of  irreflective  sympathy,  is,  in 
the  words  of  the  fable,  without  pity,  owing  to  the  want  of 
experience  and  to  feebleness  of  judgment.  Every  day  we 
see  children,  even  as  old  as  three  or  four  years,  innocently 
doing  violence,  by  their  inopportune  remarks  and  cruel 
proposals,  to  the  most  sacred  griefs  of  those  who  love 
them.  I  remember  that,  when  about  five  years  old,  hav¬ 
ing  lost  a  young  sister,  I  was  taken  by  my  aunt  to  the  bed 
where  the  dead  child  was  lying.  The  pallor  and  immo¬ 
bility  of  her  face,  her  half-closed  eyes,  and  her  distorted 
mouth  (she  had  died  of  croup)  all  made  a  deep  impression 
on  me ;  but  at  the  same  time,  she  reminded  me  so  strongly 
of  a  very  pale-faced  little  boy,  whom  I  had  often  noticed 
on  my  way  to  school  on  account  of  his  colorless  complex¬ 
ion,  that  I  could  not  rest  till  I  had  found  my  mother  to 
tell  her  of  this  likeness.  A  child  of  four  years  old  had 
lost  one  of  his  favorite  companions;  he  was  taken  to  the 
little  boy’s  house,  and  the  father  took  him  on  his  lap  and 
held  him  there  a  few  minutes  while  giviug  way  to  a  fit  of 


SO  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

weeping.  The  child  understood  nothing  of  all  this  grief; 
he  got  down  as  quickly  as  he  could,  disported  himself  a 
little  while  about  the  room,  and  then  suddenly  going  back 
to  the  poor  father,  exclaimed:  “Now  that  Peter  is  dead, 
you  will  give  me  his  horse  and  his  drum,  won’t  you?” 

Sometimes,  however,  we  see  exceptions  to  this  rule.  I 
know  a  little  child,  not  yet  three,  who  is  a  striking 
example  of  what  has  been  aptly  called  the  “memory  of  the 
heart.”  His  grandfather  and  father,  whom  he  was  very 
fond  of,  are  both  dead.  The  grandfather  has  been  dead 
a  year,  and  the  father  five  months.  Not  a  day  passes  that 
he  does  not  speak  of  them.  Whenever  he  is  taken  to  his 
grandmother’s  house,  he  seats  himself  on  his  grandfather’s 
arm-chair,  asks  to  have  the  curtain  lifted  up  from  grand¬ 
papa’s  picture,  and  looks  at  it  with  an  expression  of  real 
emotion.  At  home  he  asks  every  day  for  the  photograph 
of  his  father;  he  kisses  it  and  makes  his  sister  and  his 
elder  brother  do  the  same.  He  understands  why  his 
mother  is  sad,  and  says  to  her,  “You  are  sad  because 
father  is  not  here.”  If  he  sees  her  crying,  he  kisses  her 
and  says,  “Don’t  cry;  I  will  go  and  fetch  papa;  I  will 
make  him  come  back;  I  have  got  the  key  of  Paradise.” 

Let  me  mention  one  or  two  more  facts  to  show  how 
very  unequally  different  kinds  of  sympathy  may  be  de¬ 
veloped  in  the  same  child.  The  following  facts  were 
furnished  me  by  a  friend:  “Since  I  have  been  under 
hydropathic  treatment  it  has  twice  happened  that  the 
child  (sixteen  months  old)  has  been  present  at  the  opera¬ 
tions.  .  .  .  Each  time,  when  I  began  to  douche  my¬ 

self,  he  burst  into  tears,  probably,  I  suppose,  because  lie 
remembered  what  a  disagreeable  sensation  he  feels  himself 
when  he  is  put  into  a  bath.  The  first  time,  I  was  obliged 
to  leave  off  the  performance  and  put  him  out  of  the  room 
away  from  this  painful  sight.  The  second  time,  I  let  him 
remain,  but  he  cried  the  whole  time.  He  fetched  my  clothes 
from  the  chair,  and  held  up  my  shirt  for  me  to  put  on. 
This  sympathetic  sensibility  touched  me  deeply.  ” 

“The  little  fellow  is  perfectly  miserable  if  either  his  mother 
or  I  say  to  him,  ‘I  am  angry,  baby.’  If  any  one  scolds 
him,  it  is  the  displeased  expression  of  face  that  causes  him 


THE  SENTIMENTS. 


81 


the  most  distress  and  sets  him  off  crying.  If  the  scolding 
is  not  of  a  very  decided  nature,  one  sees  him  hesitate,  his 
mouth  is  uncertain  whether  to  laugh  or  cry,  and  he  finally 
decides  according  to  the  dominant  expression.  If  he  cries 
a  great  deal  at  being  scolded,  his  mother  can  always  com¬ 
fort  him  by  saying,  ‘Mother  not  cross  now;  be  mother’s 
little  darling,’  and  then  he  is  instantly  consoled  and  holds 
up  his  face  to  be  kissed.” 

But  the  reverse  of  the  medal  is  always  there  also.  This 
same  child  at  the  same  age,  and  even  a  year  later,  was  the 
terror  of  all  cats.  During  a  visit  that  he  paid  at  my 
house,  I  went  one  day  suddenly  into  a  room  where  he  had 
been  left  alone  with  a  little  kitten.  On  seeing  me  he 
cried  out,  “I’m  not  hurting  the  kitten.”  This  was  true  at 
the  moment  at  which  he  spoke,  for  I  found  the  little 
creature  squatting  under  a  cupboard,  frightened  to  death. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

INTELLECTUAL  TENDENCIES. 

A  child’s  curiosity,  like  its  intelligence,  is  at  the  outset 
entirely  egotistic  and  sensual,  but  it  is  gradually  and  in¬ 
stinctively  elevated  by  a  kind  of  scientific  disinterested¬ 
ness.  It  is  in  the  first  instance  a  vivid  excitation  of  the 
sensibility,  and,  by  repercussion,  of  the  activity,  in  the 
presence  or  expectation  of  new  and  vivid  sensations. 

Fenelon  has  given  a  psychological,  if  not  an  exactly 
physiological  description,  of  this  interesting  organ  of  the 
infant  mind.  “The  substance  of  their  brains  is  soft,  but 
it  hardens  day  by  day.  As  for  their  minds,  they  know 
nothing,  all  is  new  to  them;  owing  to  the  softness  of  the 
brain,  impressions  are  easily  traced  on  it,  and  the  novelty 
of  everything  causes  them  to  be  easily  excited  to  admira¬ 
tion  and  curiosity.  This  moisture  and  softness  of  the 
brain,  combined  with  excessive  heat,  produce  in  it  easy  and 
constant  movement;  hence  arises  the  restlessness  of 
children,  and  their  inability  to  keep  their  minds  fixed  on 
one  object,  any  more  than  their  bodies  in  one  place.” 
Fenelon  says  elsewhere:  “The  curiosity  of  children  is  a 
natural  tendency  which  goes  in  the  van  of  instruction.” 
Let  us  say  rather,  “in  the  van  of  pleasure,”  and  the  defini¬ 
tion  will  be  more  exact. 

At  two  months  a  child  will  turn  its  eyes  and  ears  and 
stretch  out  its  hands  and  arms  towards  the  objects  which 
strike  its  senses.  At  three  months  it  seizes  the  objects 
brought  within  its  reach  and  shakes  them  about  to  amuse 
itself;  it  knows  that  its  hands  are  the  instruments  by 

82 


INTELLECTUAL  TENDENCIES. 


83 


means  of  which  it  can  procure  itself  impressions  and  pro¬ 
duce  movements,  and  it  exercises  them  in  touching  and  in 
bringing  near  to  its  eyes,  and  better  still  its  mouth,  as 
many  objects  as  it  can.  When  it  is  undressed  it  rubs  its 
hands  all  over  its  little  body,  down  its  stomach,  along  its 
legs  and  feet;  and  it  is  astonished  to  feel  so  many  different 
things  which  are  all  parts  of  itself.  When  it  is  seated  on 
its  nurse’s  lap  or  on  a  cushion  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
one  of  its  favorite  occupations  is  to  take  its  foot  in  both 
hands  and  to  pull  it  up  to  its  mouth.  The  mouth  is  the 
central  point  of  all  its  young  experience ;  it  is  here  that 
every  fresh  bit  of  knowledge  is  brought  to  be  measured 
and  determined.  Very  often  too,  whether  from  the  need 
of  testing  everything  by  the  taste,  or  from  the  desire  to 
soothe  the  smarting  of  its  teeth  or  gums,  and  to  arrive  at 
the  remedy  by  what  seems  the  shortest  road,  children  will 
try  to  take  hold  of  distant  objects  with  their  mouths. 

Then  soon  comes  the  stage  at  which  everything  within 
reach  becomes  the  subject  of  continual  study  and  desire, 
and  the  child’s  curiosity  flits  from  one  thing  to  another 
and  backwards  and  forwards  to  the  same  things  over  and 
over  again,  changing  as  rapidly  as  does  the  pleasure  which 
lie  feels  in  holding,  moving,  looking  at,  and  listening  to 
different  things.  Woe  henceforth  to  you  parents  who  have 
not  kept  your  children  in  check,  but  have  made  yourselves 
the  ready  slaves  to  their  caprices.  By  a  graceful  wave  of 
the  baby  hand,  or  hy  resolute  and  imperious  screams,  they 
will  now  insist  on  your  bringing  or  giving  them  whatever 
strikes  their  fancy;  your  watch,  your  eye-glass,  your  arm¬ 
chair,  a  picture,  a  porcelain  vase,  a  lamp,  possibly  even  a 
gas-burner  in  the  street;  “everything,”  as  Rousseau  says, 
“including  the  moon.” 

Towards  the  age  of  a  year,  when  a  child  begins  to  be 
able  to  walk,  its  sphere  of  personal  investigations  becomes 
rapidly  enlarged,  and  the  additional  faculty  of  speech  sup¬ 
plies  its  curiosities  and  wishes  with  the  means  of  endless 
variety,  and  of  enforcing  attention.  A  hundred  times  an 
hour,  provided  there  is  some  one  to  listen  to  him,  his  little 
voice  will  be  heard,  expressing  some  wish  or  asking  some 
question.  All  the  observations  which  he  formerly  made 


84  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


with  his  eyes,  are  now  made  with  his  hands  and  mouth  ; 
he  darts  about  hither  and  thither;  he  crawls  or  toddles 
from  one  thing  to  another;  he  opens  things,  breaks  them, 
knocks  them  about,  mixes  them  together.  He  pours  his 
broth  into  his  grandfather’s  watch,  puts  the  gold  fish  into 
the  doll’s  bed,  and  the  doll  into  the  water  of  the  fish-globe; 
in  short,  he  commits  the  whole  series  of  incongruities 
which  artists  of  late  have  been  ingeniously  striving  to 
reproduce;  and  all  this  is  done,  not  so  much  from  a  desire 
to  know  what  the  things  are  and  what  can  be  done  with 
them,  as  from  the  need  of  fresh  sensations. 

A  little  later,  these  mischievous  tendencies  become  still 
more  numerous.  The  child  seems  to  he  everywhere  at 
once — in  the  kitchen,  in  the  garden,  in  the  drawing-room, 
with  eyes  and  ears  wide  awake,  hearing  and  seeing  every¬ 
thing  without  seeming  to  do  so,  asking  endless  questions, 
often  very  embarrassing  ones,  and  storing  up  in  his  mem¬ 
ory  all  the  most  striking  details,  to  he  brought  out  suddenly 
for  the  entertainment  of  visitors.  This  craving  of  young 
children  for  information  is  an  emotional  and  intellectual 
absorbing  power,  as  dominant  as  the  appetite  of  nutrition, 
and  equally  needing  to  be  watched  over  and  regulated. 

We  should  strangely  exaggerate  the  hereditary  influence 
of  scientific  tendencies  in  man,  if  we  transferred  it  from 
the  social  group  to  the  individual :  all  that  belongs  to  the 
individual  is  a  greater  aptitude  at  perceiving  and  at  com-  ‘ 
bining  his  perceptions  so  as  to  form  systematic  and  co¬ 
ordinated  conceptions;  but  the  instinct  for  abstract  truth, 
the  necessity  of  finding  out  the  truth  for  its  own  sake,  is 
not  transmitted,  it  must  be  inculcated.  If  then  there  are 
no  questions  asked  by  children  to  which  a  true  answer 
should  not  be  given,  we  may  comfort  ourselves  with  the 
thought  that  little  children  are  not  very  critical,  and  that 
a  very  vague  answer,  if  necessary,  will  satisfy  them.  For 
instance,  a  little  girl  asked  her  mother  why  there  was 
water  in  the  river.  Her  mother  answered,  “Because  there 
must  be  water  somewhere  but  not  everywhere.”  Another 
child  asked  why  beans  grew  in  the  earth.  Her  mother 
answered,  “Do  you  not  grow  every  day?  and  kittens,  don’t 
they  grow?  All  animals  get  bigger,  and  little  ones  become 


INTELLECTUAL  TENDENCIES. 


85 


great  ones;  and  the  plants  do  just  the  same.”  Another 
child  asked  why  water  was  not  wine.  His  father  asked 
him  in  answer,  “Is  a  dog  a  cat?  Wine  is  wine,  and  water 
is  water.”  All  these  answers  are  not  partly  true,  they  are 
absolutely  true,  and  quite  sufficient  for  children  of  this 
age. 

Children  do  not  trouble  themselves  about  the  invisible ; 
they  feel,  indeed,  an  instinctive  repulsion  for  what  is  mys¬ 
terious.  It  may  be  said  of  them,  as  Spencer  has  well  said 
of  primitive  man:  “He  accepts  what  he  sees,  as  animals 
do ;  he  adapts  himself  spontaneously  to  the  world  which 
surrounds  him;  astonishment  is  beyond  him.”  If,  then, 
it  is  not  possible  to  attribute  the  birth  of  religions  to  those 
two  tendencies  said  to  be  innate  in  man, — automorphism, 
which  causes  him  to  place  a  will  similar  to  his  own  behind 
natural  phenomena,  and  wonder,  which  seizes  him  in  the 
presence  of  certain  of  these  phenomena  and  impels  him 
to  invent  mysterious  and  supernatural  explanations  for 
them, — we  may  boldly  assert  that  the  sense  of  religion 
exists  no  more  in  the  intelligence  of  a  little  child,  than 
does  the  supernatural  in  nature. 

Children,  I  take  it,  occupy  their  minds  very  little  w-ith 
those  conceptions  of  the  invisible,  of  the  infinite,  and  of 
finality,  which  are  disputed  about  in  philosophic  circles. 
Their  reverence  and  their  love  attaches  itself  to  the  human 
beings  who  are  kind  to  them,  but  to  nothing  which  is  in¬ 
visible  or  distinct  from  their  species.  Their  instinct  of 
finality  is  wholly  objective  and  utilitarian.  They  ask  what 
such  a  thing  is  called,  in  order  to  know  in  what  it  is  either 
good  or  bad ;  and  also — but  this  chiefly  because  they  have 
been  taught  to  ask  it — where  it  comes  from,  who  has  made 
it  thus,  who  has  put  it  there;  i.  e.,  what  is  there  to  like  ox- 
fear  about  any  particular  thing?  There  is  nothing  meta¬ 
physical  in  all  this  ;  they  are  only  inquiries  founded  on 
very  concrete  analogies  and  experiences.  The  mystery  of 
their  own  existence  and  of  the  existence  of  the  world  does 
not  interest  or  preoccupy  young  children,  unless  they  have 
had  their  attention  dii-ected.to  these  subjects;  and,  in  our 
opinion,  parents  are  very  much  mistaken  in  thinking  it 
their  duty  to  instruct  their  little  ones  in  such  things, 


86  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


which  have  no  real  interest  for  them — as  who  made  them, 
who  created  the  world,  what  is  the  soul,  what  is  its  pres¬ 
ent  and  future  destiny,  and  so  forth. 

So  great,  moreover,  is  the  confidence  and  credulity  of 
children,  that  they  will  accept, — not  always  though  with¬ 
out  a  little  kicking, — almost  any  beliefs  that  you  try  to  im¬ 
pose  on  them.  If  you  want  to  persuade  your  child  that  he 
was  born  under  a  cabbage,  that  Hop-o’-my-Tliumb  had 
seven-leagued  boots,  that  the  sky  is  peopled  with  angels, 
that  under  the  earth  there  are  howling  demons,  that  gar¬ 
rets  and  chimneys  are  full  of  ghosts,  you  have  only  to  look 
as  if  you  believed  all  this  seriously  yourself,  and  they  will 
be  convinced  at  once. 


H. 

VERACITY. 

Montaigne  has  said  that  the  falsehood  and  stubbornness 
of  a  child  grows  with  its  growth;  and  with  regard  to  the 
first  of  these  faults,  of  which  I  shall  treat  in  this  chapter, 
he  has  spoken  very  truly.  Like  all  hereditary_vices,  the 
habit  of  lying  is  developed  more  or  less  in  each  child,  ac¬ 
cording  as  internal  or  external  circumstances,  education, 
example,  the  influence  of  such  and  such  other  tendencies 
or  habits  favor  or  counteract  its  growth.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  is  an  absolutely -subordinate  vice;  and  we  must 
search  out  its  primary  source  and  its  accidental  deriva¬ 
tions  if  we  wish  to  apply  a  timely  and  efficacious  remedy 
to  the  evil. 

A  child’s  truthfulness  is  in  proportion  to  its  credulity, 
although  there  is  no  direct  relationship  between  these  two 
qualities.  Nevertheless,  at  a  very  early  age  the  illusions 
from  which  no  one  of  its  senses  is  exempt,  begin  to  startle 
its  early  confidence,  though  without  at  once  shattering  it. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  many  things  astonish  children  on 
account  of  the  distinction  they  are  obliged  to  make  between 
them  and  other  things  which  resemble  them.  I  have  seen 
a  child  of  five  months  old  quite  perplexed  and  bewildered 
at  discovering  that  what  she  had  taken  for  one  and  the 


VERACITY. 


87 


same  cat  was  two  cats  of  the  same  color.  Very  young 
children  are  frequently  surprised  and  irritated  by  mistakes 
which  they  have  fallen  into.  But  they  are  much  more 
annoyed  and  irritated  by  deceptions  practiced  on  them  by 
others. 

If  you  give  a  child  of  seven  or  eight  months  a  piece  of 
bread  instead  of  a  cake  which  he  had  seen  and  coveted, 
he  will  thrust  aside  the  mocking  gift  with  a  gesture  of 
disgust;  and  the  twitcliings  of  his  mouth,  his  tearful 
eyes,  and  puckered  forehead  threaten  an  imminent  out¬ 
burst.  Who  that  has  had  to  do  with  children  is  not 
familiar  with  the  terrible  scenes  that  occur  when  a  change 
of  nurses,  or  the  necessity  of  weaning  the  child,  obliges 
those  around  it  to  resort  to  all  sorts  of  little  tricks  and 
manoeuvres?  Happy  the  parents  who  can  Hatter  them¬ 
selves  that  neither  they  nor  any  of  their  household  have 
ever  deceived  a  child  unnecessarily,  and  without  legitimate 
cause. 

Thus,  then,  we  see  that  children  from  twelve  to  fifteen 
months  old  have  already  discovered  that  all  that  grown-up 
people  do  or  say  is  not  always  truth.  Very  soon,  more¬ 
over,  if  the  phenomenon  of  falsehood  has  not  already 
come  under  their  notice,  the  cunning  which  is  innate  in 
every  animal  organization  will  lead  them  to  it  by  the 
practice  of  useful  dissimulations.  The  story  of  the  piece 
of  sugar  stolen  by  the  young  Tiedemann  or  the  young 
Darwin,  is  the  story  of  all  children  at  the  same  age.1 
They  hide  themselves  instinctively  to  do  what  they  know 
is  forbidden,  as  if  in  play,  just  as  they  will  say  what  is 
not  the  case  by  way  of  fun.  A  child  of  two  years  who 
says  to  me,  “  I  have  just  seen  a  butterfly  as  large  as  a  cat, 
as  large  as  the  house,”  is  telling  for  fun  what  he  knows  to 
be  a  falsehood.  It  is  the  same,  too,  when  he  crouches 
behind  a  door  saying,  “  Victor  isn’t  here.”  But  of  these 
two  untruths  the  one  is  spontaneous,  the  other  is  imitated; 
the  playful  imagination  of  children,  and  their  tendency  to 
imitate  the  games  of  others,  are  two  sorts  of  inducements 


'See  my  brochure:  Thierri  Tiedemann  et  la  Science  del' Enfant, 

etc.,  p.  36. 


88  THE  FIRST  JTHREE  YEARS  OE  CHILDHOOD. 


to  them  to  counterfeit  the  truth.  But  in  whatever  way 
they  do  it,  whether  by  gesture,  mien,  or  speech,  it  is  more 
for  their  own  edification  than  for  that  of  others.  They 
enjoy  the  surprise  or  the  fright  which  they  think  they 
have  caused  their  nurse  by  suddenly  popping  their  head 
out  from  behind  their  table-napkin,  or  by  coming  out  of 
a  hiding-place  where  they  thought  themselves  invisible. 
“  How  I  frightened  you !  ”  said  a  little  girl  of  twenty 
months  to  her  uncle,  who  had  pretended  to  be  frightened 
at  hearing  her  imitate  the  barking  of  a  dog  behind  the 
door.  We  see  also  from  example  that  the  gratification  of 
the  feeling  of  amour-propre  has  something  to  do  with  this 
tendency  of  deceiving  for  fun. 

Children  will  also  turn  a  thing  into  a  joke  in  the  same 
sort  of  way,  to  avoid  being  scolded,  or  to  appear  as  if 
they  did  not  deserve  a  scolding.  “  Naughty,  naughty,” 
said  a  little  child  of  two  and  a  half  to  its  mother  who  was 
putting  it  into  a  bath  against  its  will.  “What!  ”  said  the 
mother,  “  is  that  how  you  speak  to  me?  ”  “  No,  no,  it’s 

not  you;  it’s  the  water  that’s  naughty,”  was  the  prompt 
reply.  In  this  case  the  falsehood,  though  suggested  by 
the  mother’s  question,  had  more  the  nature  of  spontaneity 
than  imitation. 

All  egotistical  feelings  are  conducive  to  lying.  A  child 
who  has  just  had  some  good  thing  to  eat,  will  say  that  he 
has  not  had  it,  or  that  he  has  had  very  little,  in  order 
that  he  may  have  some  more  given  him.  Another  child 
has  burnt  his  mouth,  say,  in  drinking  his  broth,  and 
begins  to  cry.  His  nurse  tries  to  comfort  him,  saying, 
“  Poor  baby,  it  hurts  very  much,  doesn’t  it,”  etc.,  etc. 
All  these  words  of  comfort  the  child  repels  with  move¬ 
ments  of  the  arms  and  head,  accompanied  by  unintellig¬ 
ible  sounds,  till  at  last  it  says  more  distinctly,  “  No,  no; 
not  hurt.” 

In  this  case  the  imagination,  over-excited  by  pain  and 
anger,  suggests  to  the  child  the  idea  of  denying  the  reality, 
because  he  does  not  wish  to  believe  it.  A  little  girl,  three 
years  old,  seeing  her  mother  fondling  her  brother  for 
several  minutes  without  taking  any  notice  of  her,  said  all 
of  a  sudden:  “You  don’t  know,  mamma,  how  naughty 


VERACITY. 


89 


Henry  lias  been  to  the  parrot.”  This  was  a  falsehood 
suggested  by  jealousy. 

Laziness  will  also  lead  children  to  tell  untruths.  A 
child  is  told  to  go  and  look  for  a  stool  in  the  next  room ; 
he  returns  without  having  looked  for  it,  and  says  it  is 
not  there.  Or  he  is  given  a  book  to  take  to  his  uncle 
who  is  sitting  out  in  the  garden.  He  reluctantly  leaves 
his  playthings,  hesitates  before  starting,  walks  as  slowly 
as  he  can,  looking  around  several  times  to  see  that 
no  one  is  looking  at  him,  and  when  out  of  sight,  he 
drops  the  book  into  a  bed  of  flowers,  and  runs  back  to 
his  toys,  as  if  he  had  executed  the  commission.  Lazi¬ 
ness,  disobedience,  and  hypocrisy  are  all  combined  in 
this  action. 

The  fear  of  being  scolded,  or  punished,  or  of  being 
deprived  of  an  unexpected  treat,  will  also  often  lead  a 
child  into  falsehood;  but  this  is  generally  at  an  older 
age — after  they  are  three  or  four  years  old.  Very  often, 
moreover,  it  is  our  manner  of  trying  to  elicit  the  truth 
which  leads  to  defiance,  dissimulation,  and  falsehood. 
Did  you  do  that?  Who  has  done  this?  Questions  like 
these,  asked  in  a  threatening  voice  and  with  severe 
looks,  provoke  an  answer  which  may  save  from  punish¬ 
ment,  or,  at  any  rate,  may  put  it  off;  and  so  the  child 
tells  a  lie. 

Truthfulness  is  so  essential  a  virtue,  and  the  habit  of 
lying  is  so  dangerous,  and  one  which  in  so  many  ways 
affects  all  the  details  of  human  life,  that  we  cannot  be  too 
much  on  our  guard  against  the  first  symptoms  of  prevari¬ 
cation.  It  is  a  matter  in  which  preservatives  are  more 
valuable  than  correctives.  It  is  a  common-place  truth, 
but  one  too  much  forgotten  in  actual  practice,  that  with 
justice  and  kindness,  wre  can  make  almost  anything  we 
like  of  children.  They  will  be  frank  and  open,  if  they 
are  encouraged  to  be  confiding;  they  will  not  seek  to 
make  excuses  for  their  faults,  if  they  know  that  it  grieves 
their  parents,  and  that  this  will  be  the  worst  conse¬ 
quence  of  their  naughtiness.  And  lastly,  we  should  be 
specially  careful  never  to  scold  them  for  unintentional 
faults. 


90  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


in. 

IMITATION. 

During  the  first  months  of  life,  the  imitative  tendency 
is  as  little  developed  as  the  power  of  observation ;  it  ex¬ 
hibits  itself,  however,  in  various  little  efforts.  Darwin 
thinks  that  he  noticed  it  in  his  son  at  four  months  old, 
when  the  child  appeared  to  imitate  certain  sounds;  but 
he  only  determined  it  positively  at  the  age  of  six  months. 
Tiedemann  has  noted  the  following  phenomenon  in  his 
son  at  four  months,  and  he  thinks  it  a  clear  indication  of 
association  of  ideas :  “  If  he  sees  any  one  drinking,  he 
makes  a  movement  with  his  mouth  as  if  he  were  tasting 
something.”  In  this  and  analogous  actions  must  we 
not  recognize,  besides  the  instinct  of  finality  which  makes 
the  child  understand  the  object  of  buccal  movements, 
the  result  of  that  instinctive  sympathy  of  movement 
which,  in  beings  provided  with  the  same  organization, 
makes  like  call  forth  like,  and,  given  the  impulsive  char¬ 
acter  of  childhood,  results  naturally  in  imitation? 

M.  Egger,1  while  agreeing  that  the  faculty  of  imitation 
is  very  precocious  in  children,  does  not  note  it  with  cer¬ 
tainty  until  the  age  of  nine  months,  and  then  in  the  fol¬ 
lowing  actions: — 1.  Alternately  hiding  and  showing  them- 
sfelves,  as  a  game.  2.  Throwing  a  ball,  after  having  seen 
some  one  else  throw  one.  3.  Trying  to  blow  out  a  candle. 
4.  Trying  to  sneeze  in  imitation  of  some  one  else.  5. 
Trying  to  strike  the  keys  of  a  piano.  M.  Egger  does  not 
notice  at  the  same  period  “  any  conscious  effort  at  imitat¬ 
ing  sounds.”  He  considers,  moreover,  that  the  develop¬ 
ment,  or  rather  the  appearance  of  this  faculty  of  imita¬ 
tion,  is  simultaneous  with  the  first  awakening  of  intelli¬ 
gence.  For  my  part,  admitting  as  I  do  the  co-existence  in 
children,  at  a  very  early  age,  of  automatic  movements  and 
conscious  and  intelligent  movements,  I  believe  that  the 
imitative  function  is  also  very  early  connected  with  these 
two  sorts  of  movements. 


1  Le  Developpemenl  de  V Intelligence  et  du  Langage  chez  les  Enfants, 
pp.  10,  etc. 


IMITATION. 


91 


Owing  to  tlie  nervous  connection  of  the  auditory  and 
phonetic  apparatus,  young  birds  attempt  mechanically  to 
produce  the  notes  they  hear  sung  by  adult  birds ;  talking 
birds  try  mechanically  to  produce  the  words  and  the 
sounds  which  strike  on  their  ears ;  and  mechanically  also, 
as  it  seems  to  me,  children,  as  soon  as  the  second  month, 
make  attempts  at  sounds,  in  order  to  answer  people  speak¬ 
ing  to  them,  or  to  imitate  the  sounds  of  the  piano.  Like¬ 
wise  at  the  age  of  three  months,  having  learnt  mechanically 
to  follow  the  direction  of  a  look  or  a  movement,  they 
will  fix  their  eyes  on  objects  which  they  see  other  people 
looking  at,  turning  their  head  also  sometimes  where  they 
see  other  persons  turn  theirs,  and  all  this,  though  in  a  very 
limited  measure,  with  the  intention  of  imitating.  The 
same  applies  to  all  young  animals. 

As  the  simultaneous  development  of  the  faculty  of  ob¬ 
servation  and  of  the  play  of  the  organs  proceeds,  the  sphere 
of  children’s  imitations  is  proportionately  enlarged :  for  in¬ 
stance,  their  arms  at  first  attempted  a  variety  of  instinctive 
movements  towards  objects  which  attracted  their  atten¬ 
tion  or  excited  their  desires ;  the  desire  to  imitate  analo¬ 
gous  gestures,  which  he  sees  others  make  with  success, 
excites  him  to  renew  his  efforts,  and  indicates  to  him  the 
way  to  succeed  in  his  turn :  at  the  age  of  four  months  he 
stretches  out  his  arms  with  more  assurance  to  the  people 
around  him;  he  is  more  successful  in  smiling,  he  even  at¬ 
tempts  to  laugh— and  all  this  improvement  is  due  to  the 
attempts  at  imitation  which  have  helped  and  strengthened 
the  first  spontaneous  efforts.  At  six  months  children  re¬ 
spond  with  little  starts  and  jumps  to  any  attempt  to  amuse 
them  ;  they  stroke  their  mother’s  face  with  their  little 
hands,  they  babble  inarticulate  expressions  of  admiration 
at  any  object  which  they  are  made  to  contemplate.  A  lit¬ 
tle  later  still,  their  m  rn  m  and  p  p  p,  more  or  less  spon¬ 
taneous,  becomes  the  mamma  mamma,  and  papa  papa, 
which  have  been  repeated  to  them  a  hundred  times  a  da}'. 
And  finally  their  first  efforts  at  walking,  partly  due  to  their 
own  initiative,  and  partly  to  the  guidance  and  help  of 
nurses  and  mothers,  will  be  brought  gradually  to  perfec- 


02  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


tion  through  their  anxiety  to  imitate  the  grown-up  people 
whose  walking  they  watch  so  attentively. 

The  older  a  child  grows,  the  more  he  will  he  helped  by 
example  in  guiding  the  operations  of  his  senses,  as  well  as 
those  of  his  moral  and  intellectual  faculties.  For  instance, 
as  has  been  said  above,  “We  feel  the  desire  to  eat  arising, 
when  we  see  others  eating,”  and  the  practical  lesson  to  he 
learnt  from  this  is,  not  to  give  the  stimulus  of  example  to 
the  instinct  of  greediness  innate  in  children.  The  same 
may  be  said  of  all  actions  which  have  more  or  less  connec¬ 
tion  with  sympathy,  sociability,  or  with  anti-social  tenden¬ 
cies.  A  little  girl  only  fifteen  months  old  had  already  be¬ 
gun  to  imitate  her  father’s  frowns  and  irritable  ways  and 
angry  voice ;  and  very  soon  after  she  learnt  to  use  his 
expressions  of  anger  and  impatience.  When  three  years 
old,  this  same  little  girl  gravely  said  to  a  visitor  at  the 
house  with  whom  she  had  begun  to  argue  quite  in  her 
father’s  style:  “Do  be  quiet,  will  you,  you  never  let  me 
finish  my  sentences!  ”  Thus  we  see  that  the  contagious 
effect  of  example  operates  very  early  on  the  habits  and 
morals  of  children.  They  copy  everything,  evil  as  well 
as  good,  and  are  very  quick  to  adopt  the  opinions  and 
ways  of  acting  of  their  elders.  We  must  not,  however,  be 
in  too  great  a  hurry  to  judge  them  from  their  passing  es¬ 
timate  of  particular  actions,  or  from  their  imitation  of  them, 
which  is  purely  accidental.  It  is  not  so  much  habits  as 
tendencies  to  habits  which  they  exhibit,  and  these  are 
often  lost  as  soon  as  learnt,  as  well  as  the  manners  or  lan¬ 
guage  which  they  have  acquired  in  the  same  fashion. 
Moreover,  there  is  in  every  child  a  distinct  individuality, 
the  result  of  heredity  and  habits,  which  can  always  be  dis¬ 
covered  if  we  will  but  look  for  it,  underneath  all  its 
plagiarisms. 

The  spontaneity  natural  to  early  infancy  is  sometimes 
the  means  of  saving  children  from  the  inconvenient  results 
of  their  extreme  organic  and  intellectual  plasticity.  But 
it  would  be  dangerous  to  count  too  much  on  this  spon¬ 
taneity.  The  respect  due  to  the  individuality  of  a  human 
being  makes  it  incumbent  on  us  to  be  very  careful  as  to 
the  examples  a  child  sees  around  him,  especially  from  the 


SPONTANEITY. 


93 


moral  point  of  view.  The  ideal  in  education  would  be, 
to  allow  each  child  scope  for  his  own  particular  bent,  while 
at  the  same  time  setting  our  example  before  him.  Locke 
understood  the  necessity  of  respecting  the  natural  bias  in 
each  child,  and  could  not  endure  the  artificial  product 
which  is  the  invariable  result  of  constraint  and  affectation. 
He  specially  deplores  this  fault  in  what  concerns  manners 
and  behavior  in  society.  “Affectation,”  he  says,  “is  a 
clumsy  and  forced  imitation  of  what  should  be  easy  and 
natural,  and  is  devoid  of  the  charm  which  always  accom¬ 
panies  what  is  really  natural,  because  of  the  opposition 
which  it  causes  between  the  outward  action  and  the  inward 
motions  of  the  spirit.  .  .  .”  Away  with  politeness  and 

agreeable  manners  if  they  endanger  the  frankness  and 
sincerity  of  the  child.  “Mamma,”  said  a  child  of  four 
years  old,  “are  you  not  going  to  tell  Madame  X  to  go  away? 
She  has  been  here  a  long  time.”  I  greatly  prefer,  even 
in  a  child  of  four  years  old,  this  frank  and  innocent 
rudeness,  to  formulas  of  politeness  repeated  by  rote  but 
not  felt. 

There  is  another  reason,  well  worth  our  consideration, 
which  should  deter  us  from  stifling  a  child’s  natural  initia¬ 
tive  by  the  undue  influence  of  our  example  and  activity. 
We  see  in  animals  a  sort  of  individuality  of  action  which 
does  not  belong  to  man;  the  development  of  their  powers 
and  skill  affords  them  the  greatest  possible  amount  of 
enjoyment  when  they  are  young,  and  later  on  inspires 
them  with  a  kind  of  proud  confidence.  And  the  same 
thing  may  be  observed  in  little  children.  Tiedemann  says 
of  his  son  at  fifteen  months  old, — and  the  observation  might 
have  been  made  earlier, — “When  he  has  done  something 
of  his  own  accord,  given  a  certain  impetus  to  one  of  his 
toys,  for  instance,  he  shows  evident  delight,  and  takes 
pleasure  in  reiterating  the  action.”  And  he  goes  on  to 
remark  with  equal  truth:  “Children  in  general  like  to  do 
by  themselves  what  they  have  hitherto  been  obliged  to  let 
others  do  for  them.  They  like  to  feed  themselves  with 
their  own  hands,  to  wash  and  dress  themselves,  etc.,  etc. 
This  liberty  of  action,  even  in  imitated  actions,  is  one  of 
the  conditions  of  a  child's  happiness;  besides  that,  it  has 


94  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


the  effect  of  exercising  and  developing  all  its  faculties. 
Example  is.  the  first  tutor,  and  Liberty  the  second  in  the 
order  of  evolution ;  but  the  second  is  the  better  one,  for  it 
has  Inclination  for  its  assistant.” 


IV. 


CREDULITY. 

The  instinct  of  credulity  is  at  first  nothing  else  than  the 
instinct  of  belief.  It  is  impossible  for  us  to  have  a  sensa¬ 
tion,  or  a  perception,  or,  in  fact,  a  clear  idea  of  any  sort 
without  referring  it  at  first  to  some  object  which  is  present, 
and  later  on  to  something  which  has  been  or  might  be 
present — in  short,  to  some  real  or  tangible  cause.  This 
is  why,  in  the  case  of  children  or  young  animals  without 
discernment,  and,  up  to  a  certain  point,  in  the  half-civil¬ 
ized  adults  whom  we  call  savages,  belief,  or,  if  we  prefer 
it,  credulity,  is  confounded  with  the  desire  to  see  such  and 
such  objects  either  present  to  the  sight  or  fixed  in  the 
memory,  and  to  see  them  with  such  and  such  attributes, 
agreeable  or  disagreeable.  The  child  begins  with  a  lively 
faith  in  the  truth  of  appearances ;  but  day  by  day  he  goes 
through  experiences  which  teach  him  to  mistrust,  not  ap¬ 
pearances  in  general,  but  certain  sorts  of  appearances.  In 
this  respect  his  faculty  of  discrimination  and  generaliza¬ 
tion  makes  marked  progress  during  the  important  period 
from  the  third  to  the  sixth  month. 

A  little  child  of  seven  months  who  is  on  a  visit  to  me, 
is  seated  on  the  table  before  me  as  I  am  writing.  I  place 
a  brush  within  his  reach  with  the  bristles  turned  towards 
him:  he  presses  both  his  hands  upon  it,  but  soon  lifts  them 
up  again — very  slowly  and  looking  very  grave.  His  atten¬ 
tion  is  then  attracted  in  another  direction.  Some  min¬ 
utes  after,  I  try  the  experiment  over  again,  and  this  time 
I  notice  a  little  more  rapidity  in  the  child’s  recoiling  move¬ 
ments.  I  repeat  it  five  times  more  at  intervals,  and  vary¬ 
ing  the  circumstances ;  but  I  do  not  remark  any  new  facts. 
A  quarter  of  an  hour  having  passed  after  the  seventh  ex¬ 
periment,  I  again  place  Georgie  in  a  position  to  touch  the 


CREDULITY. 


95 


brush.  This  time  he  draws  hack  quickly  at  first  sight, 
and  without  trying  to  touch  it.  Having  then  amused  him 
and  distracted  his  attention  for  a  short  space  of  time,  I 
repeated  the  experiment  once  more  for  the  last  time.  The 
child  looked  fixedly  at  the  brush  without  stirring,  then, 
after  a  few  minutes  of  hesitation  or  reflection,  he  threw 
himself  back  and  kissed  his  grandmother. 

Children  make  experiments  of  this  kind  for  themselves 
every  day;  and  though  they  t/eneralize  them  very  little,  they 
help  them, — by  dint  of  repetition,  and  thanks  to  analogy 
and  association  of  ideas,— to  know  how  to  act  advanta¬ 
geously  with  regard  to  new  objects  which  come  before  them. 
But  the  mistakes  which  they  make  so  frequently  they  do 
not  realize  as  such ;  they  regard  them  merely  as  isolated 
experiences;  and  thus  in  most  cases  the  little  creatures, 
irreflective  rather  than  inexperienced,  judge  things  from 
their  appearance. 

A  fortiori  then  will  children  trust  blindly  in  the  words 
of  others.  “The  sounds  which  a  child  has  become  ac¬ 
customed  to  recognize  and  to  attach  to  certain  objects 
while  learning  to  speak,  will  naturally  awaken  in  him  the 
thought  of  the  same  objects  when  heard  again :  until  these 
associations  have  been  disturbed  by  the  experience  of  error 
and  falsehood,  they  reproduce  themselves  naturally  and 
infallibly;  the  same  words  recall  always  the  same  ideas. 
If  every  time  that  one  says  to  a  child,  ‘I  have  a  cake  for 
you,’  one  really  gives  him  a  cake,  it  is  impossible  but  that 
the  same  words,  spoken  another  time,  should  not  awaken 
in  him  the  same  idea  and  expectation ;  but  if  once,  instead 
of  the  promised  cake,  he  is  given  a  bit  of  wood,  he  finds 
himself  suddenly  confronted  with  a  falsehood  that  nothing 
could  have  made  him  foresee,  and  he  begins  to  cry.  We 
can  plainly  see  that  the  instinct  of  veracity  is  not  needed 
to  explain  these  facts.”  I  am  of  the  same  opinion  as  M. 
Janet:  it  is  not  necessary  to  have  recourse,  as  Reid  has 
done,  to  the  instinct  of  truth,  to  explain  the  natural  be¬ 
lief  of  human  beings  in  the  testimony  of  other  human 
beings.  This  fact  lias  its  principle  in  the  natural  belief 
of  a  child  in  the  sense  expressed  by  words,  that  is,  in  the 
objectivity  of  the  ideas  that  words  express.  Even  at  the 


96  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


age  of  two  or  three,  when  the  child  has  made  experience 
of  error  and  falsehood,  he  will  tell  untruths  himself,  with¬ 
out  ceasing  to  believe  in  the  veracity  of  others.  He  only 
mistrusts  certain  people,  and  those  never  entirely.  Un¬ 
truthful  and  credulous,  these  are  two  qualities  which  go 
very  frequently  together  in  childhood,  and  also,  I  think, 
in  adult  life;  it  is  easier  to  tell  lies  than  to  believe  that 
others  are  doing  so. 

Children,  then,  accept  unhesitatingly  as  true  all  the 
ideas  which  pass  through  their  brains,  and  especially  those 
which  gain  confirmation  and  precision  from  the  words  or 
looks  of  grown-up  persons.  The  tales  of  the  latter,  what¬ 
ever  they  may  be,  instantly  become  the  child’s  creeds. 
This  is  what  constitutes  the  charm,  and  also,  in  my  mind, 
the  danger,  of  all  the  improbable  stories  which  are  related 
to  children,  before  even  they  thoroughly  understand  the 
language  in  which  they  are  told. 

At  the  age  of  twenty  months  a  child  is  not  keen  to  hear 
stories  and  fables,  which  he  would  not  understand;  but  he 
delights  in  recounting  his  own  little  experiences.  A  little 
girl  of  this  age,  whenever  her  mother  took  her  out  with 
her,  used  to  relate  to  her  father  in  the  evening  all  that  she 
and  her  mother  had  seen  and  done:  “We  went  out  under 
the  large  trees  of  the  Luxembourg;  the  dog  was  with  us; 
he  kept  running  round  the  perambulator  of  a  little  girl, 
and  ever  now  and  then  he  came  up  and  licked  her  hands 
and  face.  But  the  dog  was  very  naughty,  he  ate  the  little 
girl’s  cake.  Mamma  scolded  the  dog  well,  and  drove  him 
away  with  her  blue  umbrella,  which  made  Mary  laugh 
just  when  she  was  beginning  to  cry.  Then  a  little  boy 
named  .Joseph  came  and  sat  on  a  bench  by  Mary.  He 
was  bigger  than  little  Mary,  but  he  was  very  polite,  and 
he  is  very  fond  of  the  little  girl.  He  let  her  take  his  bal¬ 
loon  and  he  did  not  hurt  her  doll;  then  he  and  Mary 
jumped  about  together,  but  the  little  boy  tumbled  down 
and  made  a  bump  on  his  forehead.  He  cried  very  much, 
and  the  little  girl  cried  too  because  he  was  hurt.  And 
then  we  walked,  a  long,  long  way  to  the  furthest  bench 
with  Madame  X.,  who  loves  baby  very  much.  Madame 
X.  said  to  baby:  ‘When  are  you  coming  to  see  me? 


CREDULITY. 


97 


There  are  some  beautiful  apricots  for  you  in  the  garden, 
and  the  birds  in  the  aviary  are  always  very  pretty  and  very 
happy:  they  often  ask  where  little  Mary  is,  saying,  Coui, 
com,  coui,’  etc.,  etc.”  And  during  this  recital,  often  inter¬ 
rupted  by  the  kisses  and  pettings  of  her  mother,  or  by 
bursts  of  laughter  and  short  remarks  from  her  father,  the 
little  girl,  all  eyes  and  ears,  enacted  all  the  various  emo¬ 
tions  which  the  events  called  forth,  gesticulating  with 
arms,  feet,  and  head,  and  mimicking  the  cries  of  the  ani¬ 
mals  she  was  talking  about.  She  would  become  half  lost 
in  the  narrative,  or  rather  in  dramatizing  it;  and  the  habit 
of  recounting  these  true  stories  prepared  her  for  following 
the  fictitious  ones  which  her  mother  invented  for  her,  suit¬ 
ing  them  gradually  to  the  progressive  development  of  her 
intelligence.  When  two  years  old,  she  could  not  exist 
without  these  exciting  little  tales;  and  she  used  to  say 
several  times  a  day  to  her  mother,  “Mamma,  tale  about 
dood  ittle  dal;  mamma,  tale  about  ittle  dal.” 

These  little  dramas  and  comedies,  of  which  children  are 
so  fond,  are  taken  by  them  quite  seriously,  even  when  they 
get  to  the  age  of  three.  When  once  they  know  them  by 
heart  (a  particularly  happy  expression  in  their  case!),  if 
you  change  a  single  word,  the  charm  is  gone,  and  the 
attention  with  it.  A  child  who  went  on  a  visit  to  some 
relations  when  only  tv'o-and-a-half  years  old,  was  partic¬ 
ularly  fascinated  by  the  tales  which  his  youngest  aunt 
used  to  tell  him.  He  only  liked  to  hear  them  from  her, 
and  he  wanted  them  over  and  over  again  every  day.  Often 
after  late  dinner,  if  he  did  not  fall  asleep  in  the  middle  of 
dessert,  he  would  settle  himself  comfortably  on  her  lap, 
leaning  his  head  on  her  shoulder,  and  remain  perfectly 
still  waiting  for  her  to  begin.  And  then  nothing  could 
make  him  stir;  no  noise  or  interruption  would  disturb  his 
immovable  attention.  But  we  could  tell  by  the  expression 
of  his  face,  by  his  sudden  changes  of  color,  and  by  the 
movements  of  his  eyes  and  the  twitchings  of  his  lips,  what 
a  series  of  profound  emotions  was  successively  agitating 
his  little  mind. 

One  evening  his  aunts  wTere  out,  and  he  was  left  alone 
with  the  eldest  of  his  cousins,  a  young  man.  He  soon 
8 


98  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


began  to  find  liimself  bored.  His  cousin  proposed  to  tell 
liim  the  story  which  he  liked  best,  the  one  about  a  young 
bird,  which,  having  left  its  nest,  although  its  mother  had 
forbidden  it  to  do  so,  flew  to  the  top  of  a  chimney,  fell 
down  the  flue  into  the  fire,  and  died  a  victim  to  his  diso¬ 
bedience. 

The  narrator  thought  it  necessary  to  embellish  the  tale 
from  his  own  imagination.  “That’s  not  right,”  said  the 
child  at  the  first  change  which  was  made,  “the  mother 
said  this  and  did  that.”  His  cousin  not  remembering  the 
story  word  for  word,  was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  in¬ 
vention  to  fill  up  gaps.  But  the  child  could  not  stand  it. 
He  slid  down  from  his  cousin’s  -knees,  and  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  and  indignant  gestures,  exclaimed,  “It’s  not  true! 
The  little  bird  said,  Coui,  coui,  coni,  coni,  before  he  fell  into 
the  fire,  to  make  his  mother  hear;  but  the  mother  did  not 
hear  him,  and  he  burnt  his  wings,  his  claws,  and  his 
beak,  and  he  died,  poor  little  bird.”  And  the  child  ran 
away,  crying  as  if  he  had  been  beaten.  He  had  been 
worse  than  beaten,  he  had  been  deceived,  or  at  least  he 
thought  so;  his  story  had  been  spoiled  by  being  altered. 
So  seriously  do  children  for  a  long  time  take  fiction  for 
reality. 


CHAPTER  VH. 

THE  WILL. 

I  know  not  if  it  be  very  daring  to  suppose  that  all  the 
movements  produced  during  uterine  life  are  not  absolutely 
unconscious,  and  that  the  child  may  have  some  sort  of 
idea  of  a  few  of  them  at  the  moment  they  are  going  to  be 
produced.  For  instance,  we  may  ask  ourselves  if  it  has 
in  no  measure  preserved  the  recollection  of  certain  sensa¬ 
tions  of  temperature,  of  pressure,  of  contact,  of  taste,  and 
also  of  movements  more  or  less  defined,  such  as  contor¬ 
tions,  tremblings,  contractions  of  the  muscles  of  the 
mouth,  which  the  organism  will  have  made  in  response  to 
these  different  sensations.  If  it  were  so,  the  conscious¬ 
ness  which,  according  to  our  hypothesis,  would  be  either 
concomitant  with  or  consecutive  to  these  instinctive  move¬ 
ments  and  the  sensations  which  determined  them,  would 
tend  to  forestall  the  action,  or  it  might  diverge  into  two 
separate  actions,  bearing  successively  on  the  sensations 
and  on  the  movements  in  question.  This  is  how  it  would 
be,  a  sensation  would  be  strong  enough  to  be  felt,  but  not 
strong  enough  to  produce  instantaneously  the  correspond¬ 
ing  movements ;  this  hesitation  of  the  instinct  of  move¬ 
ment  in  following  the  shock  of  the  sensation, — perhaps  a 
pause  produced  by  two  crossing  sensations, — would  give 
the  child  time  to  interpose  a  glimmer  of  consciousness 
between  the  sensation  and  the  action;  and  this  would  be  a 
first  slight  beginning  of  spontaneity.  Is  it  at  any  rate 
altogether  exaggerated  to  suppose  that  during  the  long 
travail  of  birth,  composed  of  such  varied  actions  and  inter- 

99 


100  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


ludes,  the  child,  however  little  conscious  of  some  of  the 
efforts  which  it  makes  itself,  and  of  the  sensations  of  dif¬ 
ferent  degrees  of  intensity  which  cause  it  to  make  them,  is 
nevertheless  capable  of  accidentally  producing  some  of 
these  movements  with  a  vague  desire  of  doing  so?  It  is 
this  intervention  of  consciousness  and  desire  (or  of  per¬ 
sonal  spontaneity  in  the  production  of  movements  fatally 
determined),  if  it  does  exist  before  and  during  birth,  that 
we  must  look  upon  as  the  germ  of  voluntary  activity. 

But  without  troubling  ourselves  further  as  to  this  meta¬ 
physical  hypothesis,  let  us  try  to  interpret  scientifically 
some  few  of  the  facts  observed  at  a  later  date.  That 
which  distinguishes  voluntary  movements  and  actions  from 
involuntary  ones,  is,  that  in  the  former  there  exists  a 
desire  either  to  renew  or  to  get  rid  of  certain  sensations, 
and  besides,  some  idea  of  the  movements  necessary  to 
produce  this  result;  in  other  words,  some  idea  of  the 
muscular  sensations  corresponding  to  these  movements. 
The  desire  may  be  more  or  less  vivid,  the  idea  of  the 
movements  more  or  less  distinct,  and  by  so  much  is  the 
intervention  of  the  will  greater  or  less.  It  is  generally 
very  slight  during  the  first  period  of  existence.  Whether 
the  great  nerve  centres,  motor  and  other,  be  incomplete  at 
birth,  whether  instinct  makes  easy  to  the  child  a  large 
number  of  the  movements  which  it  seems  to  learn,  the 
volitions, — that  is  to  say,  consciousness,  effort,  and  de¬ 
sire, — play  very  little  part  in  those  movements  which  are 
predetermined  by  organization  and  heredity.  Thus  the 
fingers  of  a  child  a  few  days  old  close  too  easily  on  any 
object  placed  in  contact  with  its  palm 'for  it  to  be  very 
early  stimulated  to  produce  similar  movements  voluntarily. 
In  like  manner  it  may  be  maintained  that  the  progress 
made  in  the  act  of  suction  during  the  first  days  has  gone 
on  with  as  little  of  consciousness  and  desire  as  possible, 
that  this  progress  is  due  to  a  development  of  forces  and  to 
exercise,  which  are  purely  mechanical ;  but  can  the  same 
be  said  Apropos  of  the  remark  made  by  Tiedemann  on  his 
sixteen-days-old  child:  “If  putin  a  position  to  suck,  or 
if  he  felt  a  soft  hand  on  his  face,  he  left  off  crying,  and 
felt  about  for  the  breast.”  There  appears  to  be  something 


THE  WILL. 


101 


more  here  than  association  of  ideas.  There  seems  to  be  a 
recollection  of  and  a  desire  for  the  action  of  sucking,  and 
perhaps  for  the  movements  of  suction.  M.  Preyer  only 
recognizes  the  first  appearance  of  volition  in  a  child  in  its 
holding  its  head  upright,  and  this  it  does  not  do  till  the 
end  of  fourteen  weeks.  We  may,  however,  notice  other 
conscious  efforts  towards  the  same  period.  When  a 
month  and  five  days  old,  Tiedemann's  child  “distinguished 
by  himself  objects  outside  him,  showing  the  first  effort  to 
seize  something  by  extending  his  hands  and  bending  his 
whole  body.” 

The  same  movements,  more  or  less  conscious,  are  to  be 
remarked  in  cats  and  dogs  before  the  end  of  the  first  week. 
The  little  Tiedemann,  however,  seems  to  me  much  too  pre¬ 
cocious.  The  following  observation  has  much  more  veri¬ 
similitude.  When  a  month  and  twenty-seven  days  old, 
the  same  child  already  showed  that  he  realized  his  own 
activity;  his  gestures  of  pleasure  indicated  this,  as  well  as 
bis  fits  of  anger  and  violence  in  pushing  away  disagree¬ 
able  things.  The  remark  made  at  the  same  period  by 
Tiedemann,  on  the  imperative  intention  of  tears,  is  con¬ 
firmed  by  similar  observations  of  Charles  Darwin’s.  At 
the  age  of  eleven  weeks,  in  the  case  of  one  of  his  children, 
a  little  sooner  in  another,  the  nature  of  their  crying 
changed,  “according  to  whether  it  was  produced  by  hunger 
or  suffering.”  This  means  of  communication  apj^eared  to 
be  very  early  placed  at  the  service  of  the  will.  The  child 
seemed  to  have  learnt  to  cry  when  he  wished,  and  to  con¬ 
tract  his  features  according  to  the  occasion,  so  as  to  make 
known  that  he  wanted  something.1  This  development  of 
the  will  takes  place  towards  the  end  of  the  third  mouth. 
At  the  same  period,  Tiedemann’s  son  was  still  at  the  stage 
of  those  instinctive,  or  rather  primitive,  movements  of  de¬ 
sire  which  show  themselves  by  the  mechanical  extension 
of  the  arm  and  the  inclination  of  the  whole  body;  it  was 
not  until  towards  the  fourth  month  that  he  began  to  take 


1  Examples  taken  from  Darwin's  “Expression  of  the  Emotions,”  and 
which  I  have  reproduced  in  my  brochure:  Tliierri  Tiedemann  el  la 
Science  de  V  Enfant.  Mes  Deux  Chats ,  a  fragment  of  comparative  psy¬ 
chology,  pp.  1 2,  etc. 


102  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


hold  of  objects  placed  within  his  reach;  and  in  carrying 
them  to  his  mouth  lie  learnt  to  hold  them  firmly;  all  these 
steps  in  advance  being  conscious  and  intended,  that  is  to 
say,  voluntary.  In  proportion  as  the  understanding  and 
the  motive  forces,  or,  in  other  words,  the  great  nerve 
centres  of  the  child,  develop,  the  emotional  element  of 
volition  or  desire,  and  the  idea  or  conception  of  the  move¬ 
ment  to  be  made,  become  more  marked.  Desire  is  so 
much  the  more  keen,  as  the  conception  of  the  object  de¬ 
sired  becomes  clearer.  This  is  the  case  with  all  move¬ 
ments,  which,  though  partly  instinctive,  are  also  more  or 
less  acquired;  they  become  all  the  more  conscious  and  in¬ 
tended  in  proportion  as  their  more  complicated  nature 
renders  their  execution  more  difficult. 

We  see  how  greatly  the  child  is  interested  inhis  efforts  to 
stretch  out  his  hands  towards  a  wished-for  object,  to  hold  it 
up,  to  handle  it,  to  sit  down,  to  stand  upright,  to  walk,  etc., 
etc.,  from  the  fact  that  he  never  tires  of  repeating  these 
actions  after  having  once  accomplished  them,  and  will 
even  repeat  them  quite  inopportunely  “in  response  to 
desire  in  general,  however  ludicrously  insufficient  to  ac¬ 
complish  the  desired  end.  ”  1 

The  will  of  a  child,  being  more  emotional  than  intellec¬ 
tual,  is  generally  very  little  amenable  to  personal  control 
from  the  age  of  three  months  to  a  year.  At  this  age 
desire  manifests  a  more  or  less  impulsive  character,  the 
volition  of  a  being  without  experience,  if  left  to  itself, 
being  insensible  to  the  influence  of  any  but  the  simplest 
motives.  When,  at  the  age  of  four  months,  a  child  has 
learnt  to  execute  a  few  special  actions  with  his  hands, 
more  than  one  lesson  is  needed  to  form  an  association  in 
his  mind  between  touching  a  certain  brilliant  object  and 
sharp  pain,  and  to  counterbalance  his  strong  tendency 
to  touch  a  bright  flame.  But  at  six  or  seven  months,  'the 
contract  with  a  prickly  brush,  experienced  several  times 
over  in  a  few  minutes,  will  begin  to  establish,  if  only  for 
a  day  or  an  hour,  one  of  those  associations  which,  by 


1  Ferrier,  The  Brain  and  its  Functions. 


THE  WILL. 


103 


keeping  up  the  recollection  of  pain,  neutralizes  the  inten¬ 
sity  of  desire. 

The  elements  which  preponderate  in  a  child’s  will  are 
impulsiveness  and  stubbornness ;  and  can  we  expect  any¬ 
thing  else  from  a  little  creature  who  is  ignorant  of  the 
distant  consequences  of  actions,  and  who,  under  all  cir¬ 
cumstances,  obeys  only  the  desire  or  the  aversion  of  the 
moment?  The  following  anecdotes  plainly  illustrate  the 
truth  of  this. 

A  little  girl  of  three  months  old,  who  had  always  been 
accustomed  to  be  rocked  to  sleep,  woke  up  one  day  whilst 
the  nurse  was  out  of  the  room  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour; 
when  the  nurse  came  back,  she  found  the  child  in  a  frenzy 
of  despair;  her  face  was  crimson,  and  her  eyes  for  the 
first  time  wet  with  tears ;  her  screams  could  be  heard  fifty 
yards  off.  The  nurse  rushed  to  the  cradle  and  tried  by 
every  means  in  her  power  to  soothe  the  terrified  child. 
For  some  time,  however,  her  efforts  were  all  repulsed,  the 
child’s  hands  pushing  her  away;  and  it  was  quite  ten 
minutes  before  her  caresses  and  coaxings  had  any  effect. 
At  last,  however,  the  child  seemed  to  be  pacified,  and  con¬ 
sented  to  take  the  breast.  But  as  soon  as  its  appetite  was 
satisfied,  its  forehead  puckered  up  again,  its  eyes  half 
closed  under  its  contracted  eyebrows,  its  mouth  quivered, 
and  it  set  off  crying  again.  The  nurse  then  thought  the 
child  must  be  ill;  but  turning  suddenly  round  she  saw 
lying  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  a  heap  of  plaster  which  had 
fallen  from  the  ceiling.  She  was  horrified  at  the  discov¬ 
ery,  and  naturally  settled  that  this  was  what  had  fright¬ 
ened  the  child  and  made  it  cry.  She  kissed  and  petted  it, 
and  began  rocking  it  to  sleep  again,  and  in  a  very  few 
minutes  its  cries  ceased  and  it  was  sleeping  peacefully. 
Then  the  nurse,  who  was  alone  in  the  house,  set  to  work 
to  clear  away  the  pieces.  She  had  to  go  down  into  the 
yard  to  throw  them  away,  and  a  neighbor  on  the  rez-de - 
chaussee,  told  her  that  he  had  heard  the  noise  of  the  plas¬ 
ter  falling  (which  was  very  slight)  directly  after  the  nurse 
went  out :  he  had  seen  her  go  out,  and  thought  the  child 
was  with  her.  The  noise  of  the  falling  plaster  must  have 
awakened  the  child  with  a  start,  but  this  could  hardly 


104  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


have  been  the  cause  of  its  crying  so  long:  the  fact  was, 
she  wanted  to  go  to  sleep  again,  and  grew  more  and  more 
distressed  at  having  no  one  to  rock  her  to  sleep,  as  usual. 
Had  the  nurse  rightly  guessed  at  the  Cause,  she  would 
have  had  much  less  trouble  in  quieting  her.  Afterward, 
in  telling  me  this  incident,  she  added:  “I  finished  where 
I  ought  to  have  begun;  children  are  very  stubborn,  mon¬ 
sieur,  about  their  habits  and  customs.” 

All  who  have  had  anything  to  do  with  the  management 
of  babies  know  well  what  dreadful  scenes  often  take  place 
during  the  operation  of  washing  and  dressing, — what 
screams,  tears,  and  struggles.  They  cannot  bear  being 
touched  by  water,  even  if  it  is  warm.  With  some  children 
these  scenes  begin  over  again  every  day,  unless  by  very 
great  skill  they  can  be  slipped  into  their  cradles  while 
asleep.  I  knew  one  child  who,  at  the  age  of  four  or  five 
months,  could  not  be  got  to  bed  without  the  assistance  of 
several  people.  If  one  leg  was  got  under  the  clothes,  the 
other  would  be  kicked  out;  one  hand  had  to  be  held  whilst 
the  other  was  being  bandaged  up  (it  was  necessary  to 
bandage  his  hands,  to  prevent  his  scratching  his  face 
whilst  asleep);  and  the  whole  proceedings  were  accom¬ 
panied  by  screams,  howls,  and  contortions  of  the  face  and 
body.  When  he  was  six  months  old,  his  mother,  wishing 
to  avoid  the  almost  daily  recurrence  of  these  disagreeable 
scenes,  resolved  to  put  him  on  her  bed  to  sleep  for  an  hour 
or  two  after  dinner.  Instead  of  this  improving  matters, 
however,  his  fury  was  all  the  greater  when  he  was  put  in 
his  cradle  again;  the  bed  had  .spoiled  him,  and  he  would 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  cradle.  It  ended  in  their 
having  to  let  him  be  on  the  bed  as  much  as  possible,  and 
take  care  to  get  him  sound  asleep  before  he  was  put  into 
his  cradle  at  night.  If  he  woke  up  afterward,  the  flicker¬ 
ing  flame  of  the  night  light  was  enough  to  prevent  his 
crying  and  to  soothe  him  to  sleep  again. 

I  saw  this  child  again  when  he  was  about  a  year  old ; 
and  his  nurse  then  told  me  that  though  in  five  or  six  mat¬ 
ters  he  was  still  very  obstinate  and  self-willed,  yet  he  was 
generally  good-humored  and  even  pliable.  If  any  one 
smiled  at  him,  he  would  smile  back  again ;  he  made  him- 


THE  WILL. 


105 


self  at  home  on  anybody’s  lap;  he  had  learnt  not  to  wipe 
away  certain  people’s  kisses;  and  he  could  be  left  alone 
quite  happily  for  hours  with  neighbors,  or  even  with 
strangers  whom  he  had  never  seen  before.  But  this  was 
if  his  mother  or  nurse  was  not  present.  Directly  one  or 
other  of  them  appeared,  he  would  smile  at  her  from  a  dis¬ 
tance,  hold  out  his  arms  to  her,  and  make  efforts  to  get 
down  if  she  did  not  come  to  take  him,  or  if  he  were  not 
carried  to  her.  Sometimes  they  would  put  him  on  the 
floor  to  go  to  the  person  he  wanted ;  and  then  he  would 
crawl  on  all-fours,  pushing  himself  along  with  the  help  of 
his  knees  and  stomach.  This  was  a  pleasing  kind  of  self- 
will.  In  the  morning,  when  his  mother  had  had  her 
breakfast,  she  used  to  take  him  to  his  father’s  bed,  and 
there  he  went  through  all  sorts  of  little  games  and  tricks, 
turning  over  and  over,  now  on  his  back,  now  on  his 
stomach,  burying  his  head  in  the  pillow,  diving  under  the 
sheets,  wriggling  about  like  a  serpent,  mimicking  the 
noise  of  birds,  and  giving  vent  to  decided  bursts  of  laugh¬ 
ter.  This  morning  entertainment  he  looked  upon  as  his 
right.  If,  when  breakfast  was  over,  his  mother  did  not  at 
once  take  him  up  to  his  father’s  room,  even  when  he  did 
not  hear  his  father’s  voice,  he  would  call  out  Papa!  and 
then,  if  no  one  seemed  to  understand  his  gestures  and  his 
eloquent  looks,  there  would  come  mingled  screams  and 
sobs  and  shrieks  of  Papa. 

A  little  girl,  now  rather  a  big  girl,  and  of  an  extremely 
amiable  and  sweet  disposition,  was  very  difficult  to  bring 
up,  so  her  grandmother  told  me.  Up  to  the  age  of  a  year, 
there  was  always  the  greatest  trouble  to  get  her  into  her 
cradle.  It  was  often  necessary  to  wait  a  long  time  for  a 
favorable  moment  to  pop  her  in,  and  then  the  slightest 
movement  would  wake  her  up  again;  or  if  she  did  not 
wake  up  again  at  this  critical  moment,  she  would  set  off 
crying  like  an  automaton  moved  by  a  spring,  the  instant 
she  came  in  contact  with  the  obnoxious  cradle.  This 
unconscious  crying  always  roused  her  up,  and  she  had  to 
be  taken  out  of  the  cradle  again,  to  avoid  the  tears  and 
screams  which  made  her  mother  fear  for  her  health. 
There  was  also  the  same  difficulty  always  over  her  bath. 


106  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


She  would  stiffen  herself  out  like  a  poker,  I  was  told,  and 
scream  like  a  little  fury.  Every  possible  dodge  was  tried 
to  get  her  to  stay  in ;  the  nurse  pretended  to  get  in  with 
her,  her  favorite  toys  were  brought  her,  etc. ;  and  when  at 
last  she  had  been  got  in,  the  mother  or  the  nurse  must  not 
stir,  or  the  crying  and  kicking  began  again. 

I  will  give  one  more  example  at  about  the  same  age. 
Juliette  is  twenty-two  months  old.  Her  mother  has  for¬ 
bidden  her  to  touch  the  flowers  in  the  window;  she  is  only 
allowed  to  water  them  with  a  child’s  watering-pot.  She 
performs  this  task  with  a  zeal  which  is  only  equalled  by 
her  awkwardness.  She  has  to  ask  her  mother’s  permission 
always  before  doing  it;  the  flowers  would  be  swamped 
every  day  if  she  watered  them  whenever  she  wanted  to. 
When  she  has  been  disobedient,  the  nurse  waters  the 
flowers  instead.  Several  times  a  day  she  is  heard  saying : 
“Ittle  dal  dood,  water  fower.”  The  other  day  her  mother 
was  in  the  drawing-room  with  some  visitors  and  the  child 
suddenly  disappeared  with  her  toys.  At  the  end  of  ten  or 
twelve  minutes  she  reappeared,  her  frock  and  pinafore  lit¬ 
erally  soaked  with  water.  “Ittle  dal  dood,  water  fower,” 
were  her  first  words  on  coming  into  the  room.  One  of 
the  visitors,  on  kissing  her,  remarked  the  state  she  was  in. 
Her  mother  flew  into  the  next  room,  where  water  was  flow¬ 
ing  everywhere.  This  is  what  had  happened:  as  Juliette 
had  been  disobedient  at  table,  she  was  forbidden  to  water 
the  flowers,  and  her  little  watering-pot  had  been  hidden. 
But  the  temptation  was  greater  than  her  fear  of  being 
scolded  for  disobeying  a  second  time.  She  had  got  hold 
of  her  nurse’s  watering-pot  and  turned  on  the  tap  to  try 
and  fill  it  herself ;  but  she  had  only  succeeded  in  produc¬ 
ing  an  inundation  and  deluging  her  frock.  She  looked  so 
crestfallen  and  penitent  that  her  mother’s  only  scolding 
was  to  laugh  at  her.  In  the  evening  she  said  to  her 
father:  “Ittle  dal  not  be  dood,  not  no  longer  dood,  cause 
not  like  water  fower — not  like  be  all  wet.”  The  next 
morning  the  nurse  gave  her  back  her  watering-pot;  but 
she  threw  it  down,  saying:  “Not  dood  water-pot,  not 
dood,  wet  ittle  dal,  no  more  water  fower.  ”  Her  resolu¬ 
tion,  however,  did  not  hold  out  when  she  saw  the  silvery 


THE  WILL. 


107 


shower  pouring  out  of  the  nurse’s  watering-pot.  “Ittle 
dal  velly  dood,  water  fower,”  said  she,  and  picked  up  her 
own  little  pot. 

There  is  not  one  of  the  above-cited  examples  which  does 
not  prove  that,  whether  under  the  form  of  automatic  de¬ 
sire,  or  of  conscious  desire,  or  of  voluntary  determination, 
action  in  children  is  almost  always  subordinate  to  their 
sensibility.  What  they  want,  is  what  pleases  them  at  the 
moment,  or  what  they  remember  to  have  been  pleased 
with ;  what  they  dislike,  is  whatever  displeases  them  or  has 
displeased  them. 

In  proportion  as  a  child  forms  its  experience,  a  greater 
number  of  sensations,  of  sentiment  and  ideas, — that  is  to 
say,  of  determinant  motives  and  impulses, — intervene  be¬ 
tween  the  action  and  the  determination,  which  was  before 
simple  and  instantaneous.  The  action,  when  one  is  pro¬ 
duced,  is  determined  by  the  strongest  motive;  actions  of 
this  nature  are  called  deliberate,  in  distinction  to  those 
which  are  impulsive.  One  often  sees  a  young  child  hov¬ 
ering  between  two  contrary  motives,  both  of  which  equally 
solicit  him  to  action ;  in  general,  the  hesitation  lasts  but 
a  short  time,  especially  if  both  the  motives  are  agreeable. 
This,  no  doubt,  is  for  the  reason  assigned  by  Delboeuf, 
“  because  in  this  case  it  is  better  to  act  than  to  wait.  Buri- 
danus’  donkey,  we  may  be  sure,  died  neither  of  hunger 
nor  thirst.”  1  There  is  not  even  in  such  a  case  a  conflict, 
properly  so  called,  but  merely  a  concurrence  of  motives. 
An  almost  analogous  case  is,  when  a  child  has  to  choose 
between  the  pain  of  not  having  a  strong  desire  gratified, 
and  some  compensating  pleasure  or  present  which  is 
offered  to  him.  Here  regret  struggles  with  an  attractive 
reality;  the  child  who  was  crying  is  on  the  point  of  smil¬ 
ing;  then  he  begins  to  cry  again,  and  finally  he  consoles 
himself  and  begins  to  laugh  and  play.  At  other  times, 
again,  the  conflicting  elements  are  more  numerous  and 
more  distinct;  for  instance,  we  find  on  the  one  hand  these 
four  terms:  obedience,  privation  of  a  desired  object,  ap¬ 
probation,  caresses;  and  on  the  other  hand  these  four: 


1  See  Revue  Philosophique,  Nov.  1881,  p.  517. 


108  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

disobedience,  the  attraction  of  the  forbidden  object,  re¬ 
proaches,  punishment.  These  different  motives  either 
evolve  themselves  separately  or  are  fused  together;  and 
under  the  influence  of  their  representations,  impulse  is 
counterbalanced  for  a  longer  or  shorter  time.  In  cases 
of  this  sort  the  habit  of  associations  formed  between 
certain  motives  and  certain  ways  of  acting  greatly  facili¬ 
tates  the  operation  of  the  will.  But  deliberating  voli¬ 
tion,  i.e.,  the  reciprocal  inhibition  of  the  tendencies  to  the 
action,  tends  more  frequently  in  children  to  revert  to  im¬ 
pulsiveness,  and  to  impulsiveness  dominated  by  actual  and 
personal  suggestions. 

When  Bernard,  fifteen  months  old,  cries  without  any 
reason,  his  father  says  in  a  loud  voice,  “  Hold  your 
tongue;”  and  sometimes  he  stops  at  once.  When  his 
father  says  Drink,  or  Walk,  he  also  generally  obeys.  But 
he  obeys  much  more  readily  when  it  is  a  question  of  any¬ 
thing  'which  amuses  him  or  gives  pleasure  to  others. 
Thus,  when  told  to  imitate  the  dog  or  the  cat,  or  a  monkey, 
to  clap  his  hands,  to  say  No  and  shake  his  head,  he  does 
not  have  to  be  told  twice.  If  he  is  forbidden  to  do  any¬ 
thing  that  pleases  him,  he  obeys  less  promptly  than  if  it 
is  something  that  is  indifferent  to  him.  He  obeys  posi¬ 
tive  orders  more  readily  than  negative  ones — i.e.,  when 
he  is  told  to  do  something,  than  when  told  not  to  do 
something;  and  this  one  can  easily  understand,  for  in  the 
first  case  there  is  no  conflict  between  the  will  and  the 
order  given  him.  Although  he  sets  himself  obstinately 
against  walking  alone,  I  made  him  take  four  steps  towards 
me,  by  holding  out  to  him  half  a  peach  which  he  wanted 
very  much,  and  which  I  would  not  take  to  him.  But  his 
will  to  do  right  is  as  vacillating  as  his  legs.  When  he 
had  eaten  his  bit  of  peach,  I  made  a  second  trial,  and  the 
result  was  different  this  time.  I  offered  him  another  bit 
of  peach  and  said,  “  Come  to  papa,  come  and  fetch  the 
peach,”  and  he  came  at  once,  but  on  all-fours,  which  is 
his  way  of  running.  He  obeys  his  mother,  however, 
better  than  his  father,  gentleness  being  either  better 
understood  by  him  than  sternness,  or  else  having  more 
influence  over  him.  He  had  let  fall  a  piece  of  bread,  and 


THE  WILL. 


109 


his  father  having  told  him  to  pick  it  up,  he  turned  a  deaf 
ear.  His  mother  went  up  to  him,  and  he  wanted  to  take 
her  hand ;  but  she  said  to  him :  “  I  will  give  my  hand  to 
baby  when  he  has  picked  ujj  the  bread;  first  pick  up  the 
bread.  ”  He  picked  it  up,  and  then  held  out  his  hand  to 
his  mother. 

Thus  we  see,  even  in  children  less  than  three  years  old, 
a  certain  faculty,  very  fluctuating  and  capricious  it  is  true, 
“of  inhibiting  or  restraining  action,  notwithstanding  the 
tendency  of  feelings  or  desires  to  manifest  themselves  in 
active  motor  outbursts.”  1  This  faculty  of  restraint,  which 
insures  the  volitional  control  of  the  movements,  and,  up 
to  a  certain  point,  of  the  ideas  also,  belongs  to  a  period  of 
greater  maturity,  when  experience  suggests  stronger 
motives  to  the  mind  by  calling  up  before  it  the  pleasant  or 
unpleasant  consequences  of  actions,  and  when  the  faculty 
of  attention,  as  well  as  the  brain  centres  which  minister 
to  it,  being  more  developed,  restrains,  as  by  a  sort  of  me¬ 
chanical  inhibition,  the  sensations,  sentiments,  and  ideas, 
whose  tendency,  if  not  combated,  is  to  produce  instant 
action.  We  see  then  that  attention  is  one  of  the  most 
important  elements  of  volition,  which  explains  the  inde¬ 
cision,  weakness,  changeableness,  and  caprice  of  a  child’s 
will.2 


1  Ferrier,  The  Brain  and  its  Functions,  p.  232. 

s  I  shall  consider  further  on  the  close  relation  between  the  will  and  the 
moral  sense. 


CHAPTER  VHI. 


THE  FACULTIES  OF  INTELLECTUAL  ACQUISITION  AND 
RETENTION. 

I. 

ATTENTION. 

As  attention  is  the  result  of  an  intense  or  distinct  sen¬ 
sation,  and  as  the  organs  of  young  children  are  not  yet 
able  to  prolong  these  vibratory  excitations,  shocks  of  at¬ 
tention  appear  to  be  very  rare  in  babies  quite  at  the  begin¬ 
ning  of  life.  They  seem,  however,  to  occur  now  and 
then.  When  I  waved  an  object  at  a  little  distance  from 
the  eyes  of  an  infant  seventeen  days  old,  his  eyelids 
trembled  and  closed,  expressing  either  fear  or  the  desire  to 
escape  from  a  vaguely  unpleasant  sensation.  His  eyes 
followed,  from  right  to  left,  and  left  to  right,  a  candle  that 
I  moved  in  either  of  these  directions.  The  sound  of  a 
door  being  shut,  or  a  loud  voice,  made  him  tremble  so 
much  that  it  was  felt  by  the  person  holding  him.  But 
the  same  causes  only  reproduced  the  same  effect  during 
the  space  of  three  or  four  minutes;  afterwards  the  child 
was  no  longer  impressed  by  the  colors  of  the  moving 
object,  the  light,  or  the  various  sounds;  it  reassumed  its 
habitual  rapt  expression,  its  eyes  becoming  fixed  and  im¬ 
movable  as  if  looking  within.  After  a  short  time,  all 
these  different  impressions,  by  dint  of  constant  repetition, 
become  objects  of  reminiscence,  of  vague  intention,  of 
desire,  or  of  dislike. 

The  attention  paid  by  children  to  their  sensations  and 


ATTENTION. 


Ill 


recollections  becomes  stronger  and  easier  every  day,  so 
much  so  that  it  often  appears  reflex.  When  children  seem 
most  to  wish  to  fix  their  attention,  and  in  fact  when  they 
are  most  attentive,  there  is  in  reality  the  least  need  for 
their  being  so.  One  might  well  compare  an  attentive 
infant  to  a  kitten,  which  the  sight  of  some  bright  object, 
or  some  watched-for  prey,  will  hold  for  a  long  time  im¬ 
movable,  its  neck  stretched  out,  its  paws  pressed  against 
the  ground,  its  body  drawn  up,  its  eyes  dilated,  its  upper 
lip  slightly  arched,  as  if  directed  to  the  object  of  its  desire. 
Here  we  have  a  sensation,  or  group  of  sensations,  exclu¬ 
sively  perceived,  repeatedly  renewed,  and  expected;  the 
observing  subject  seems  to  belong  less  to  himself  than  to 
the  object  he  is  observing;  it  is  a  case  of  intense  reaction, 
though  as  it  were  passive,  of  attraction  more  or  less  con¬ 
scious,  of  the  fascination  of  an  attentive  being  by  the  object 
of  his  attention.  The  pleasure  which  sucking  the  breast 
affords  a  baby  becomes  an  object  of  attention.  The  child 
delights  in  the  operation,  and  as  it  were  listens  to  and 
looks  at  himself,  and  feels  that  he  is  enjoying  himself. 
This  budding  of  the  conscious  faculty,  which  is  designated 
by  the  name  of  attention,  is  produced  first  from  the  exterior 
to  the  interior;  it  is  an  excitation  of  the  nerve  cellules 
under  the  influence  of  an  irritating  impression;  it  is  not  a 
tension  or  an  effort  from  within,  but  only  an  adaptation  of 
the  nerve  centres  to  admit  a  sensation.  Attention  may  be 
the  result  of  an  action  of  the  will;  but  its  own  proper 
actions  are  apart  from  the  will;  it  is  a  channel  which 
opens  to  external  impressions,  and  which  the  will  may 
sometimes  keep  closed,  but  which  is  generally  open  in 
spite  of  it.  It  is  this  muscular  and  nervous  tension,  this 
intense  reaction  of  vivid  impressions,  more  often  forced 
than  voluntary,  which  constitutes  the  primitive  character 
of  attention.  Bossuet  designates  it  as  “forced  attention,” 
and  he  adds:  “But  this  is  not  altogether  what  we  call  at¬ 
tention;  we  only  apply  this  name  when  we  choose  an  object 
to  think  about  it  voluntarily.”  This  only  means  that 
attention  has  degrees,  and  that  that  of  which  young  children 
are  capable,  voluntary  or  involuntary,  is  always  in  the 
beginning  induced  by  sensibility. 


112  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


I  knew  a  child  who,  at  the  age  of  a  month,  certainly 
from  time  to  time  paid  sustained  attention  to  the  act  of 
suction.  This  was  evident  from  the  fixed  expression  of 
his  eyes,  which  sparkled  with  pleasure,  and  at  intervals 
half  veiled  themselves  under  the  eyelids.  One  day  his 
hottle  was  filled  with  sugared  water;  after  sucking  a  few 
drops  he  stopped  for  three  seconds,  and  then  began  again 
and  went  on  with  the  same  attentive  expression  of  satis¬ 
faction  as  if  the  hottle  had  contained  milk.  Plain  water 
without  sugar  did  not  have  the  same  success ;  he  stopped 
short  after  the  first  mouthful,  went  hack  to  the  hottle  after 
a  pause  of  five  or  six  seconds,  and  soon  turned  from  it 
again  frowning  and  pouting  most  significantly.  Here  then 
we  see  attention  applied  to  the  functions  of  taste. 

During  the  first  month,  the  various  movements  of  the 
organs,  automatic  or  conscious  (I  allude  only  to  the  pre¬ 
hensile  organs),  are  executed  in  so  awkward  a  manner, 
they  are  so  vague  and  undecided,  that  I  have  not  been  able 
to  recognize  in  them  with  certainty  the  influence  of  atten¬ 
tion  applied  to  tactile  sensations.  It  is,  however,  impossi¬ 
ble  but  that  attention  should  be  equally  exercised  in  this 
manner.  In  fact,  when,  at  six  weeks  old,  the  hands  of  a 
child  wandered  over  its  mother’s  breast,  face,  and  hands, 
the  fixed  and  joyous  expression  of  its  eyes,  and  its  wide- 
open  mouth  indicated  that  it  enjoyed  prolonging  these 
tactile  sensations,  however  vague  they  might  be.  At  two 
months  and  six  days  the  same  child  would  feel  its  mother’s 
breast  and  face  and  keep  hold  of  her  finger  with  evidently 
voluntary  attention.  At  the  same  period  he  began  to 
stretch  out  his  hands  towards  his  mother’s  breast,  when 
she  uncovered  it  at  a  distance  of  two  decimeters  from  his 
eyes. 

I  have  seen  a  little  girl  twenty-eight  days  and  a  little 
boy  thirty-five  days  old,  show,  by  the  fixity  of  their  eyes 
and  the  movements  of  the  lips  at  the  sight  of  the  feeding- 
bottle,  that  they  recognized  the  instrument  by  which  they 
were  fed,  and  were  capable  of  directing  their  attention  to 
it.  At  the  same  period  they  used  to  lift  their  hands  auto¬ 
matically  to  their  face  with  probably  very  little  conscious¬ 
ness  of  this  involuntary  movement;  but  when  the  object 


ATTENTION. 


113 


of  the  movement  was  to  rub  some  part  of  the  face,  the 
repetition  of  it,  and  the  accompanying  puckering  of  the 
forehead  and  dilating  of  the  eyes,  indicated  that  their  atten¬ 
tion  was  directed  to  some  disagreeable  sensations  which 
they  were  experiencing.  A  child  of  one  month  would  look 
fixedly  for  three  or  four  minutes  at  the  flickering  reflection 
of  the  light  on  a  table  near  the  window.  On  the  forty-fifth 
day  I  saw  him  follow  with  his  eyes,  after  having  first  well 
looked  at  it,  a  doll  dressed  in  light  blue  which  a  little  girl 
was  dandling  up  and  down  at  a  distance  of  more  than  a 
yard.  Five  days  later,  the  fixity  of  his  eyes  turned  in  a 
certain  direction  indicated  that  liis  attention  was  concen¬ 
trated  on  something  white,  blue,  or  violet;  other  colors 
appeared  to  be  indifferent  to  him,  perhaps  owing  to  tem¬ 
porary  Daltonism.  When  two  months  old,  he  began  to 
notice  red;  but  he  still  took  no  notice  of  black,  brown, 
lilac,  or  yellow. 

This  might  either  have  been  the  result  of  special  predis¬ 
position  to  certain  sensations  of  color,  or  of  relative  feeble¬ 
ness  in  the  different  organs  of  sight!  We  must  put  together 
the  results  of  a  large  number  of  experiments  in  order  to 
draw  any  reliable  conclusions.  Infants  progress  from  day 
to  day  and  sometimes  from  hour  to  hour,  revealing,  one 
after  another,  faculties  which  had  not  at  first  been  noticed. 
Those  faculties  which  will  one  day  be  the  strongest  are  not 
always  the  first  to  appear.  I  know  a  case  of  a  child  who 
did  not  fix  his  attention  on  any  colored  object  before  the 
age  of  two  months,  but  who  at  two  months  and  a  half  was 
as  sensible  to  color  as  are  the  most  precocious  children. 

As  to  the  attention  paid  to  sounds,  it  shows  itself  in  the 
second  fortnight.  Most  babies  at  the  age  of  twelve,  thir¬ 
teen,  or  fifteen  days  tremble  when  they  hear  a  loud  noise. 
“On  the  5th  of  September,-  thirteen  days  after  his  birth, 
that  is  to  say, — it  was  observed  that  Tiedemann’s  son  took 
notice  of  the  gestures  of  those  who  spoke  to  him  (?);  their 
words  even  called  forth  or  stopped  his  tears.”  I  have 
seen  a  child  sixteen  days  old  sometimes  leave  of  crying 
when  his  mother  spoke  coaxingly  to  him;  but  the  rhyth¬ 
mic  movements  which  she  made  at  the  same  time  had 
perhaps  as  much  to  do  with  pacifying  him  as  her  words. 

9 


114  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


One  night,  however,  she  could  not  succeed  in  quieting  him ; 
the  father  got  angry  and  scolded  the  child,  and  finally  in 
a  loud  voice  ordered  him  to  be  silent.  I  cannot  say  what 
was  the  impression  produced  on  the  child,  hut  he  instantly 
stopped  crying. 

“At  two  months  and  a  half,”  says  M.  Taine,  Apropos  of 
a  child  whom  he  had  studied,  “I  noticed  a  movement  which 
was  evidently  acquired.  Hearing  the  voice  of  her  grand¬ 
mother,  she  turned  her  head  in  the  direction  whence  the 
sound  came.”  I  have  also  thought  I  noticed  the  same 
thing  in  a  child  of  a  month  and  two  days.  I  was  on  his 
left  hand  and  was  speaking  in  a  loud  voice;  his  head  ap¬ 
peared  to  turn  towards  the  left ;  and  the  fixity  of  his  eyes 
seemed  to  express  a  certain  amount  of  attention  to  the 
sound  of  my  voice.  At  the  age  of  a  month  and  a  half  a 
little  girl-baby  would  consciously  express  either  pain  or  the 
desire  to  be  fed,  by  two  different  kinds  of  cries.  When 
she  was  two  months  old  there  was  no  difficulty  in  distin¬ 
guishing  whether  her  tears  meant  pain,  desire  or  anger. 
Another  child,  six  weeks  old,  used  to  make  starts  on  his 
mother’s  lap  at  the  sound  of  the  violin.  When  two 
months  old,  the  barking  of  a  dog  in  his  room  caused  him 
to  contract  his  eyebrows,  purse  up  his  lips,  and  begin  to 
cry;  the  dog  on  being  petted,  changed  his  barking  to  a  sort 
of  coaxing  yelp;  the  child  listened  very  attentively,  be¬ 
came  gradually  calm,  and  appeared  to  take  pleasure  in  this 
new  sound. 

At  a  very  early  age  we  notice  direct  correlation  between 
the  strength  of  attention  and  the  vivacity  of  the  sensations 
or  feelings  experienced.  With  little  children,  as  with 
young  animals,  those  who  most  easily  fix  their  attention 
seem  to  be  those  whose  nervous  excitability  is  the  greatest. 
At  three  months  and  a  half,  a  very  quick  little  girl,  who 
could  already  distinguish  some  parts  of  her  body,  paid  at¬ 
tention  to  all  that  went  on  around  her,  to  noises  of  every 
description,  the  sound  of  a  voice,  a  step  in  the  room,  the 
shutting  or  opening  of  a  door  or  window,  and  to  all  colors, 
even  the  least  vivid,  when  they  were  placed  within  reach  • 
of  her  sight.  A  boy  six  months  old,  intelligent  on  the 
whole,  but  lymphatic  and  not  very  sensitive,  would  hardly 


ATTENTION. 


115 


look  at  a  nosegay  of  pale-colored  flowers,  placed  rather 
near  him;  I  had  to  wave  them  close  in  front  of  his  eyes  in 
order  to  arrest  his  attention.  A  very  brilliant  flower,  how¬ 
ever,  wlflch  I  put  beside  the  nosegay,  gave  him  great 
pleasure,  and  he  looked  at  it  for  one  or  two  minutes. 
Presently  a  cat  came  on  the  scene,  a  kind  of  animal  that 
he  had  not  yet  seen.  The  child  uttered  several  cries  of 
joy,  stretched  out  his  arms,  and  leant  his  whole  body 
towards  the  animal.  As  the  cat,  however,  did  not  come 
up  to  him,  he  subsided  into  an  attitude  of  quietude.  Thus 
it  is  evideut  that  the  power  of  attention  is  primarily 
-  related  to  the  vivacity  of  sensation. 

The  more  developed  sensibility  which  produces  the  vari¬ 
ous  sentiments,  that  is  to  say,  ideas,  recollections  of  sen¬ 
sations,  magnified  and  exaggerated,  exercises  a  considerable 
influence. over  the  attention  of  adults.  “With  the  greater 
number  of  men,  the  definite  direction  which  intelligence 
takes,  is  inspired  by  sentiment.”1  What  is  it  to  love,  if 
not  to  think  constantly  and  with  pleasure  of  some  person 
or  object?  What  is  it  to  hate?  To  think  always  with 
pain  of  a  disagreeable  object.  It  is  passion, — that  is  to 
say,  attention  constantly  excited,  or  even  over- excited,  by 
feeling, — which  makes  lovers,  artists,  heroes,  and  savants. 
I  would  modify  the  saying  of  Buffon,  and  I  would  say 
that  genius  is  a  long  passion.  The  little  infant,  hardly  a 
month  old,  is,  as  we  have  said  before,  already  capable  of 
feeling  sentiments,  properly  so  called,  though  in  a  limited 
degree.  He  loves  his  mother  for  what  he  gets  from  her, 
if  not  for  herself;  he  loves  his  feeding-bottle  or  the  breast 
which  feeds  him,  the  arms  which  caress  or  carry  him,  the 
faces  which  sing  to  or  smile  on  him,  the  eyes  which  speak 
to  him.  He  fears,  he  desires,  he  suffers,  he  hopes,  he 
frolics,  he  gets  irritated;  and  these  are  all  so  many  differ¬ 
ent  excitations  of  his  faculty  of  attention,  already  de¬ 
veloped  by  exercise  and  by  the  habit  of  keen  sensations. 
But  his  moral  sensibility,  still  in  a  state  of  vague  forma¬ 
tion,  can  only  influence  his  powers  of  attention  in  a  very 


1  Dr.  Castle,  Spiritualistic  Phrenology,  chapter  on  Education. 


116  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


slight  degree,  even  when  there  are  the  most  favorable 
hereditary  predispositions. 

This  original  diversity  of  the  faculties  which  occur  to 
form  or  to  excite  attention,  is  generally  modified  by  the 
effect  of  natural  compensations.  A  very  impressionable 
child  experiences  too  great  a  number  of  different  sensa¬ 
tions  for  them  to  be  able  to  transmit  durable  impressions 
to  the  brain,  hence  a  habit  of  quick  and  ready  attention 
capriciously  or  insufficiently  bestowed  on  every  object  in 
turn,  and  thus  it  is  to  be  feared  that  the  little  girl  of  whom 
I  have  spoken  above,  with  the  ordinary  education  which 
awaits  her,  that  is,  very  little  more  than  the  chance  action 
of  circumstances  on  her  own  original  faculties,  will  become 
a  mere  commonplace  or  flighty  woman,  with  no  definite 
power  of  thought,  and  full  of  unbalanced  and  fantastic 
ideas;  superficial,  in  short,  both  in  heart  and  mind.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  boy  described  at  the  same  time,  less 
susceptible  to  ordinary  impressions,  with  sensibility  less 
easily  roused,  more  slow  to  bestow  his  attention,  and  more 
slow  also  to  take  it  away,  will  very  likely,  under  the  same 
educational  conditions,  develop  a  clear,  firm  and  practical 
mind.  He  may  perhaps  have  few  ideas,  but  those  he  has 
will  be  firmly  held  and  accurate,  because  he  will  have 
taken  his  time  to  form  them ;  and  provided  the  spontaneous 
development  of  his  mediocre  faculties  be  not  checked,  he 
will  know  well  the  little  he  does  know.  We  may  add  that 
his  organs  of  attention  will  have  acquired  by  exercise  a 
power  of  adaptation  which  will  perhaps  compensate  for 
their  want  of  natural  quickness.  This  is  a  point  of  great 
interest  to  rational  educators. 

Whatever  differences  natural  dispositions  or  regular 
exercise  may  produce  in  individual  faculties,  the  general 
tendency  of  a  child’s  attention  is  to  be  brief  and  volatile. 
The  concentration  of  mental  activity,  the  direction  of  the 
intellectual  vision,  look  after  look,  on  one  subject,  is  as 
difficult  for  a  little  child  as  it  would  be  for  a  valetudina¬ 
rian  to  repeat  during  the  space  of  two  minutes  the  series  of 
muscular  efforts  which  represent  the  lifting  of  a  heavy 
weight.  What  we  call  an  act  of  attention,  is  in  reality  a 
series  of  attentive  actions,  repeated  a  greater  or  less  num- 


ATTENTION. 


117 


ber  of  times  during  a  relatively  short  interval.  We  must 
not,  however,  exaggerate  the  astounding  rapidity  of 
thought.  Its  supposed  immeasurable  velocity  has  in  fact 
been  measured,  both  in  men  and  animals,  by  the  Dutch¬ 
man  Donders,  and  others  after  him.  But  although  the 
rapidity  of  thought  is  not  incalculable,  it  is  none  the  less 
very  great;  and  to  pay  attention  to  any  one  thing,  if  only 
for  a  few  minutes,  is  to  have  observed  it  several  times  dur¬ 
ing  that  short  space  of  time. 

Thus,  in  spite  of  the  services  that  will,  firm  desire,  and 
habit  render  the  faculty  of  attention,  by  continually  in¬ 
creasing  its  facility  and  energy,  yet  even  in  the  most  gifted 
of  men  it  is  always  liable  to  fail.  Persons  the  most  accus¬ 
tomed  to  intellectual  work  are  often  obliged  to  force  them¬ 
selves  to  set  to  work  even  at  the  most  familiar  tasks.  Very 
few  people,  I  take  it,  work  because  work  is  pleasant  to 
them.  It  is  almost  always  the  urgent  motives  of  necessity, 
interest,  ambition,  or  duty,  which  determine  them  to  make 
and  remake  the  first  painful  plunges  ;  but  once  started 
again  in  the  accustomed  groove,  the  pleasure  and  excite¬ 
ment  of  getting  on  keeps  them  going  and  facilitates  and 
sharpens  their  power  of  attention  up  to  the  moment  when 
lassitude  causes  it  to  wane.  Grown-up  people  find  a  rem¬ 
edy  for  this  periodical  weariness  and  difficulty  in  intellect¬ 
ual  labor,  in  that  law  of  nature  which  makes  change  of 
work  a  rest  to  the  mind,  just  as  variety  in  diet  gives  a  fresh 
stimulus  to  the  appetite.  But  a  young  child,  drawn  con¬ 
tinually  in  all  directions  by  over-exciting  impressions,  and 
endowed  with  very  little  power  of  resistance,  has  no  such 
antidote  for  lassitude  of  the  brain.  At  the  smallest  effort 
he  is  compelled  to  surrender. 

Thus  the  greatest  amount  of  attention  in  a  child  is  in¬ 
finitely  little.  This  faculty  of  attention,  which  plays  so 
considerable  a  part  in  scholastic  life,  has  hitherto  been 
very  imperfectly  studied.  I  know  scarcely  more  than  two 
men,  Horace  Grant  and  Edwin  Chadwick,  who  have  taken 
up  the  subject.  Their  researches  have  taught  us,  that 
after  five  or  six  minutes  in  the  case  of  infants,  and  from 
thirty  to  forty-five  in  the  case  of  older  scholars,  the  atten¬ 
tion  becomes  fatigued  and  intellectual  effort  fails ;  that  in 


118  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


schools,  the  capacity  for  attention  varies  with  the  duration 
of  the  classes,  the  season  of  the  year,  the  time  of  day,  the 
day  of  the  week,  the  interval  of  time  between  meals  and 
studies,  etc.  These  observations,  however,  have  done  no 
more  than  open  up  the  way.1  If  this  question  has  only 
begun  to  be  considered  with  regard  to  children  in  general, 
it  lias  not  even  been  thought  of  in  connection  with  the  first 
period  of  infancy,  that  is  to  say  from  birth  up  to  the  first 
attempts  at  speech.  Long  and  patient  observation  will  be 
necessary,  to  construct  merely  the  outline  of  this  science 
of  infant  psychology,  of  which  we  do  not  here  intend  to 
make  an  exhaustive  treatise  but  simply  a  sketch. 

But  if  children  use  their  attentive  powers  very  feebly, 
they  use  them  frequently,  and  in  a  rapid  but  nevertheless 
profitable  manner.  The  strong  sensibility  of  their  young 
brains  sometimes  makes  up  for  the  adult’s  power  of  con¬ 
centration,  especially  if  it  be  aided  by  frequent  repetition. 
“In  young  children,”  says  M.  Luys,  “the  cerebral  cells 
are  endowed  with  special  histological  characters ;  they  are 
flabby,  greyish,  flexible  in  a  manner;  they  are,  moreover, 
from  the  dynamic  point  of  view,  virgin  to  any  anterior  im¬ 
pression.2  The  sensorial  excitation  that  affects  them  at 
that  age  must  therefore  imprint  itself  upon  them  more 
readily,  since  it  finds  them  in  a  state  of  vacuity,  their  power 
of  retention  not  being  put  to  the  test.  On  the  other  hand, 
in  the  first  years  of  life  the  cerebral  substance  is  in  per¬ 
petual  exercise  and  organic  development.  New  elements 
are  perpetually  being  added  to  the  old  ones;  and  as  the 
new  are  most  probably  derived  from  their  predecessors,  we 
are  led  to  conclude  that  the  daughter-cells  which  appear, 
borrow  from  the  mother-cells  which  give  them  birth  an  in¬ 
evitable  bond  of  relationship,  a  species  of  hereditary  trans¬ 
mission  of  the  different  states  of  the  mother-cells  from 
whence  they  spring.  .  .  .  It  is  in  these  intimate  con¬ 

nections  between  cell  and  cell,  in  these  mysterious  bonds 
of  relationship,  that  we  must  look  for  the  secret  of  the 
perennial  character  of  certain  memories.  Thus  it  is,  that 


i  Fonsagrives,  The  Physical  Education  of  Boy s,  p.  176. 

This  js  not  altogether  our  opinion, 


ATTENTION. 


119 


certain  impressions  received  in  our  childhood  become  the 
common  patrimony  of  certain  families  of  cells,  which 
maintain  them  in  a  state  of  freshness,  incessantly  vivify¬ 
ing  them  by  a  sort  of  permanent  co-operation. 

In  the  young  child  the  impressionability  of  the  cerebral 
substance  is  such  that  it  retains,  motu  proprio,  all  the  im¬ 
pressions  that  assail  it,  as  passively  as  a  sensitized  photo¬ 
graphic  plate  that  we  expose  to  the  light,  retains  all  the 
images  that  are  reflected  on  its  surface.”  1 

It  remains  for  us  to  examine  two  questions  relative  to 
this  faculty  of  attention,  which  is  said  to  be  the  master 
faculty  of  the  mind.  First,  Helvetius  has  maintained  the 
rather  Cartesian  opinion,  that  all  men  are  naturally  gifted 
with  the  attention  and  intelligence  necessary  for  the  same 
degree  of  development  ;  but  that  attention  means  labor, 
and  that  all  men  are  not  susceptible  of  sufficiently  strong 
passions  to  change  this  labor  into  pleasure.  The  differences 
in  men  thus  proceed  from  inequality  of  the  passions,  and 
not  of  the  faculty  of  attention.  The  famous  professor 
Jacolot  has  taken  up  the  same  theme  in  the  present  day; 
and  he  seems  to  have  even  exaggerated  the  paradox.  Ac¬ 
cording  to  him,  all  intelligences  are  equal;  minds  only 
differ  in  consequence  of  the  different  powers  of  attention, 
which  are  in  proportion  of  the  will  of  the  individual.  The 
truth  is,  in  a  physiological  and  psychological  sense,  that 
we  bring  with  us  at  birth  intellectual  and  moral  organiza¬ 
tions  different  in  quantity  but  not  in  quality.  But  it  is 
not  perhaps  quite  reasonable  to  trust  absolutely  to  first 
appearances  in  respect  of  intellectual  and  moral  inequali¬ 
ties.  Is  it,  in  fact,  impossible  to  remedy  an  incapacity  of 
attention  which  is  perhaps  hereditary,  perhaps  accidental 
and  passing?  Can  we  tell,  either,  whether  these  inequal¬ 
ities  are  not,  perhaps  chiefly,  the  result  of  the  training  dur¬ 
ing  infancy?  This  question,  which  I  shall  do  no  more 
than  briefly  suggest  here,  is  a  complicated  one.  To  settle 
it  now,  either  by  the  laws  of  heredity  or  by  means  of  the 
very  meagre  knowledge  of  infant  psychology  we  at  present 


i  Luys,  Le  Cerveau  et  ses  Fonctions.  See  Eng.  Trana.  (Internat. 
Scient.  Series),  pp.  150, 160. 


120  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


possess,  would  in  my  opinion  be  premature.  At  any  rate 
I  shall  content  myself  with  merely  suggesting  the  question 
here,  and  shall  hope  later  on  to  enter  into  it  more  fully, 
taking  into  consideration  all  its  developments  and  ramifi¬ 
cations. 

The  second  question  of  importance  to  those  interested 
in  infant  education,  is  to  know  whether  it  is  possible  to 
predict  a  child’s  capacity  for  attention  from  phrenological 
indications.  This  is  a  problem  connected  with  the  preced¬ 
ing  one,  and  quite  as  difficult  to  solve.  This  much,  how¬ 
ever,  we  may  say,  that  without  admitting  with  Gall  and 
Spurzheim  a  topographically  separate  localization  of  the 
independent  faculties,  modern  phrenology  recognizes  the 
facts  that  certain  portions  of  the  cerebral  hemispheres,— 
the  anterior  lobes,  for  instance, — are  always  concerned  in 
the  carrying  on  of  intellectual  operations,  and  that  these 
operations,  identical  in  nature,  evidently  show  different 
degrees  of  complexity  in  different  individuals.  Terrier, 
who,  by  his  skillful  experiments  on  the  brains  of  monkeys, 
has  thrown  so  much  light  on  these  obscure  subjects,  be¬ 
lieves  in  the  possible  localization  of  the  perceptive  centers 
in  the  hemispheres.  With  regard  to  attention,  he  thinks, 
like  Bain  and  Wundt,  that  this  faculty  implies  the  activity 
of  the  motive  faculties.  “In  calling  up  an  idea,”  he  says, 
“or  when  engaged  in  the  attentive  consideration  of  some 
idea  or  ideas,  we  are  in  reality  throwing  into  action,  but 
in  an  inhibited  or  suppressed  manner,  the  movements  with 
which  the  sensory  factors  of  ideation  are  associated  in 
organic  cohesion.  .  .  .  The  recall  of  an  idea  being 

thus  apparently  dependent  on  excitation  of  the  motor  ele¬ 
ment  of  its  composition,  the  power  of  fixing  the  attention 
and  concentrating  consciousness  depends,  further,  on  inhi¬ 
bition  of  movement.  During  the  time  we  are  engaged  in 
attentive  ideation,  we  suppress  actual  movements,  but  keep 
up  in  a  state  of  greater  or  less  tension  the  centers  of  the 
movement  or  movements  with  which  the  various  sensory  fac¬ 
tors  of  ideation  cohere.  ...  In  proportion  to  the  devel¬ 
opment  of  the  faculty  of  attention  are  the  intellectual  and 
reflective  powers  manifested.  This  is  in  accordance  with 
the  anatomical  development  of  the  frontal  lobes  of  the 


MEMORY. 


121 


brain,  and  we  have  various  experimental  and  pathological 
data  for  localizing  in  these  the  centers  of  inhibition,  the 
physiological  substrata  of  this  psychological  faculty. 

The  powers  of  attention  and  concentration  of  thought  are, 
further,  small  and  imperfect  in  idiots,  with  defective  de¬ 
velopment  of  the  frontal  lobes;  and  disease  of  the  frontal 
lobes  is  more  especially  characteristic  of  dementia  or  gen¬ 
eral  mental  degradation.  .  .  .  The  development  of 

the  frontal  lobes  is  greatest  in  men  with  the  highest  intel¬ 
lectual  fiowers;  and,  taking  one  man  with  another,  the 
greatest  intellectual  power  is  characteristic  of  the  one  with 
greatest  frontal  development. 

“  The  phrenologists  have,  I  think,  good  grounds  for 
localizing  the  reflective  faculties  in  the  frontal  regions  of 
the  brain;  and  there  is  nothing  inherently  improbable 
in  the  view  that  frontal  development  in  special  regions 
may  be  indicative  of  the  power  of  concentration  of 
thought  and  intellectual  capacity  in  special  directions.”  1 

It  is  thus  beyond  doubt  that  a  marked  projection  of  the 
frontal  region  of  the  cranium  is  generally  the  sign  of 
natural  power  of  attention;  from  which,  however,  we 
must  not  infer,  in  the  case  of  proportionate  depression  of 
this  region,  a  radical  incapacity  for  attention.  There  is 
no  hereditary  defect  which  education  cannot  lessen  or  do 
away  with. 


n. 


MEMORY. 

Memory  is  not  a  purely  intellectual  faculty  whose  rdle 
is  to  preserve  and  reproduce  the  past  actions  of  its  owner. 
It  is  that  property  inherent  in  everything,  and  especially 
in  everything  that  lives,  to  retain  a  trace  of  all  impres¬ 
sions  received.  Every  impression  leaves  a  mark,  more  or 
less  deep  and  durable,  and  capable  of  combining  in  a 
thousand  ways  with  the  marks  of  other  impressions  in 
the  cellules  of  the  nerve,  muscular,  and  cerebral  tissues. 


1  Ferrier,  The  Functions  of  the  Brain,  pp.  285-288. 


122  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


Thus,  in  all  parts  of  the  being,  there  are  dispositions, 
either  hereditary  or  acquired,  to  remember,  that  is,  to  pre¬ 
serve  and  to  reproduce.  There  is  not  only  a  psychological 
but  also  an  organic  memory;  sensations,  sentiments, 
affections,  states  of  the  viscera,  the  nerves,  and  the 
muscles, — movements  and  association  of  movement,  all 
that  has  once  gone  on  within, — may  be  revived,  whether 
we  are  conscious  of  it  or  not. 

From  the  moment  of  its  birth,  an  infant,  whose  first 
act  of  breathing,  as  we  have  already  said,  is  pain,  who 
hungers  and  thirsts,  who  suffers  from  the  relative  cold  of 
the  surrounding  atmosphere,  from  the  sudden  freedom 
given  to  its  limbs,  from  the  sounds  which  shock  its  feeble 
hearing  and  the  rays  of  light  which  strike  on  its  eyes, 
from  the  unaccustomed  contact  with  people  and  things 
that  come  near  it,  and  who  expresses  all  these  different 
feelings  of  annoyance  by  screams,  or  rather  sharp  gasp- 
ings,  by  agitated  gestures,  and  deep  flushes  over  its 
face  and  head,  is  executing  automatic  actions,  i.e., 
hereditary  reflex  movements,  which  have  belonged  to 
others  before  him ;  and  this  is  hereditary  memory.  “  Each 
nerve  has  a  sort  of  memory  of  its  past  life,  is  trained  or 
not  trained,  dulled  or  quickened,  as  the  case  may  be;  each 
feature  is  shaped  and  characterized,  or  left  loose  and 
meaningless,  as  may  happen;  each  hand  is  marked  with 
its  trade  and  life,  subdued  to  what  it  works  in; — if  we. 
could  but  see  it.”  1 

All  this  is  found  transmitted  by  heredity,  in  the  actions 
and  gestures  of  the  new-born  child,  and  why  should 
not  what  is  true  in  respect  to  apparent  movements  be 
also  true  in  regard  to  other  manifestations  of  human 
activity,  such  as  sensation,  sentiments,  and  primordial 
ideas? 

I  have  often  put  this  question  to  myself,  and  not  with¬ 
out  anxiety,  when  I  have  found  myself  face-to-face  with  a 
little  child,  a  mysterious  sphinx  unconsciously  watching 
me  observing  it,  and  whose  large  calm  wondering  eyes 
disconcert  my  laborious  inductions.  I  remembered  that 


'Bagebot,  Physics  and  Politics ,  p.  3. 


MEMORY. 


123 


such  and  such  an  action,  buried  a  long  time  in  the  store¬ 
house  of  potential  faculties,  had  suddenly  sprung  to  light, 
aroused  by  the  fortuitous  concurrence  of  certain  favorable 
circumstances.  I  have  asked  myself  if  I  must  not  set 
down  to  the  credit  of  instinct  and  heredity  that  which  my 
observations  had  led  me  to  attribute  to  consciousness  and 
individual  experience.  Thus,  children  have  an  instinctive 
faculty  for  walking,  and  yet  they  have  to  learn  the  pro¬ 
cess  by  long  efforts,  conscious  and  progressive.  They  have 
an  instinct  for  sucking,  and,  nevertheless,  as  in  the  case 
of  dogs  and  lambs,  this  operation  has  also  to  be  learnt 
by  them.  Chickens,  colts,  and  calves  walk  by  instinct  as 
soon  as  they  are  born,  and  this  is  an  automatic  action, 
rendered  easy  by  their  organization,  but  which  they  per¬ 
fect  by  exercise  and  attention. 

These  reflections  have  suggested  another  which  has 
quieted  my  conscience  as  an  observer,  namely  (and  Dar¬ 
win  is  not  opposed  to  this  opinion),  that  the  operations 
due  to  instinct  may  easily,  at  the  very  outset,  awaken  a 
conscious  sense;  and  that,  for  instance,  the  first  attempts 
at  sucking  or  walking  may  unite  in  varying  proportions 
reflex  influences  with  conscious  efforts.  Thus,  then,  we 
may  believe  unreservedly  in  the  existence  of  actual  activ¬ 
ity,  even  when  the  gestures  and  movements  seem  to  he 
derived  from  heredity,  for  they  are  brought  into  sub-order, 
controlled  and  perfected  by  the  present  personality.  Thus 
the  little  baby  who,  at  the  age  of  five  weeks,  when  his 
nurse  sang  him  a  familiar  air  or  spoke  in  a  caressing  voice, 
began  to  warble  various  little  sounds,  did  this  by  instinct 
and  organic  sympathy — the  result  of  hereditary  memory, 
and  also  by  the  help  of  recollection  associating  together 
these  sounds  and  the  nurse’s  voice — i.e.,  the  result  of  in¬ 
dividual  memory. 

It  needs  only  the  most  elementary  powers  of  observa¬ 
tion  to  see  that  the  extent  of  the  personal  acquisitions  of 
a  little  child,  only  a  few  weeks  old,  is  considerable.  We 
have  already  seen  in  play,  from  the  age  of  two  and  three 
months,  all  the  various  and  numerous  actions,  instinctive, 
voluntary,  intellectual,  and  moral,  which  psychologists 
generally  observe  at  a  more  advanced  age.  It  is  needless 


124  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


to  recapitulate  facts,  which  indicate  so  evidently  how 
prompt,  energetic,  and  tenacious  a  faculty  memory  is  at 
the  commencement  of  life. 

It  is  noticeable  also  that  the  recollections  most  firmly 
planted  in  the  mind  are  not  always  those  which  exhibit 
themselves  most  prominently.  The  most  important,  and 
perhaps  the  most  durable,  are  those  of  which  custom  ap¬ 
pears  to  have  dulled  the  vividness,  and  whose  capacity  for 
revival  is  dependent  on  the  reflex  or  unconscious  energy 
of  the  intelligence.  When  Georgie  stops  before  the  prickly 
brush  without  touching  it,  the  idea  of  a  brush  is  clearly 
fixed  in  his  mind,  and  yet  nothing  betrays  the  recollection 
of  a  painful  impression.  This  is  what  leads  us  to  believe 
that  nothing  is  unimportant  in  the  life  of  man;  and  that 
the  education  of  infants  should  have  the  same  interest  for 
us  as  that  of  older  children.  Most  of  the  ideas  which  in¬ 
fluence  the  intellectual  and  moral  nature  of  a  man  during 
the  whole  of  his  life  (as  the  startling  instances  of  revived 
i  memories  recorded  in  cases  of  hallucination,  of  hypnotism, 
or  simply  of  exaggerated  passion,  testify)  spring  from  the 
latent  capacities  of  the  mind — the  mysterious  but  domi¬ 
nant  basis  of  the  soul.  Nothing  is  lost  in  nature,  and,  as 
Mr.  Bagehot  has  eloquently  said,  each  nerve  retains  per¬ 
haps  the  memory  of  its  past  life. 

How  many  of  the  sudden  flashes  of  sentiment,  idea, 
movement,  of  happy  or  deplorable  inspiration,  which  we 
attribute  either  to  the  natural  powers  of  the  mind,  or  to 
education,  or  to  the  effects  of  example  or  excitement,  are 
perhaps  in  truth  reminiscences  from  the  cradle.  True,  I 
have  not  been  able  to  establish  any  instances  of  memory 
going  back  beyond  the  two  first  years  of  life,  but  that  is  no 
reason  why  none  should  exist.  Language  has  become  in¬ 
corporated  with  a  great  number  of  ideas  anterior  to  itself, 
and  as,  generally  speaking,  words  accompany  the  reap¬ 
pearance  of  ideas,  we  are  prone  to  imagine  that  the  race 
has  had  no  other  ideas  than  those  which  are  symbolized 
by  speech,  and  that  we  have  only  retained  traces  of  those 
ideas  which  were  acquired  at  the  epoch  and  by  the  means 
of  speech.  To  affirm  this,  however,  is  to  deny  the  exist¬ 
ence  in  animals  of  a  considerable  number  of  ideas  which 


MEMORY. 


125 


they  have  no  means  of  expressing.  My  belief  is,  that  all 
the  ideas  which  were  well  conceived  and  well  preserved 
before  the  epoch  of  speech,  though  they  may  have  been 
defined  and  fixed  by  the  use  of  signs,  have  been  inherent 
in  memory  from  the  most  remote  epoch. 

Such  are  the  familiar  ideas  of  dog,  cat,  birds,  floioers, 
milk,  heat,  cold,  roughness,  polish,  palatable,  bitter,  etc.,  etc. 
All  essential  ideas,  that  is  to  say,  and  which,  although 
modified  by  the  posterior  work  of  intelligence,  have  not  the 
less  preserved  their  date  and  their  rank  in  the  collection  of 
cerebral  processes.  It  is  not  likely  that  these  impressions, 
so  numerous  and  so  powerful,  and  which  have  served  as 
mental  exercise  during  the  first  two  years,  should  only 
have  been  the  point  of  departure  of  future  modifications. 
These  were  the  first  impulsions  of  a  movement  which  has 
gone  on  developing  and  expanding,  and  is  still  going  on. 
Life,  in  an  organized  being,  does  not  break  off  and  begin 
again;  it  is  a  prolonged  and  continuous  series  of  modifica¬ 
tions.  Not  one  of  the  perceptions  of  our  infancy,  whether 
or  no  modified  by  language,  is  extinct;  they  have  reap¬ 
peared,  or  may  reappear,  in  the  intelligence,  in  the  will, 
or  in  the  sensibility. 

In  the  excellent  monograph  on  memory  lately  published 
by  M.  Th.  Ribot  I  find  a  kind  of  confirmation  of  the  hy¬ 
pothesis  for  which  I  wanted  facts.  It  is  known  that  the 
general  excitations  of  the  memory  seem  to  depend  exclu¬ 
sively  on  physiological  causes,  which  are  often  abnormal 
ones.  As  to  the  partial  excitations,  they,  too,  most  often 
result  from  morbid  causes ;  but  the  two  following  examples 
would  seem  to  indicate  that  they  can  be  produced  in  a 
sound  state  of  mmd :  — 

“A  lady,  in  the  last  stage  of  a  chronic  disease,  was  carried 
from  London  to  a  lodging  in  the  country;  there  her  infant 
daughter  was  taken  to  visit  her,  and  after  a  short  inter¬ 
view  carried  back  to  London.  The  lady  died  a  few  days 
after,  and  the  daughter  grew  up  without  any  recollection 
of  her  mother  till  she  was  of  mature  age.  At  this  time 
she  happened  to  be  taken  into  the  room  in  which  her 
mother  died,  without  knowing  it  to  have  been  so;  she 
started  on  entering  it,  and  when  a  friend  who  was  along 


126  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


with  her  asked  the  cause  of  her  agitation,  replied,  ‘  I  have 
a  distinct  impression  of  having  been  in  this  room  before, 
and  that  a  lady,  who  lay  in  that  corner  and  seemed  very 
ill,  leant  over  me  and  wept.’  ” 1 

Here  is  another  example :  — 

“Several  years  ago,  the  Rev.  S.  Hansard,  now  Rector  of 
Bethnal  Green,  was  doing  clerical  duty  for  a  time  at  Hurst- 
monceaux  in  Sussex;  and  while  there  he  one  day  went  over 
with  a  party  of  friends  to  Pevensey  Castle,  which  he  did  not 
remember  to  have  ever  previously  visited.  As  he  approached 
the  gateway,  he  became  conscious  of  a  very  vivid  impres¬ 
sion  of  having  seen  it  before;  and  he  ‘seemed  to  himself 
to  see’  not  only  the  gateway  itself,  but  donkeys  beneath 
the  arch,  and  people  on  the  top  of  it.  His  conviction  that 
he  must  have  visited  the  castle  on  some  former  occasion, 
— although  he  had  neither  the  slightest  remembrance  of 
such  a  visit,  nor  any  knowledge  of  having  ever  been  in  the 
neighborhood  previously  to  his  residence  at  Hurstmon- 
ceaux,— made  him  inquire  from  his  mother  if  she  could 
throw  any  light  on  the  matter.  She  at  once  informed 
him  that,  being  in  that  part  of  the  country  when  he  was 
about  eighteen  months  old,  she  had  gone  over  with  a  large 
party  and  had  taken  him  in  the  pannier  of  a  donkey;  that 
the  elders  of  the  party,  having  brought  lunch  with  them, 
had  eaten  it  from  the  roof  of  the  gateway,  where  they 
would  have  been  seen  from  below,  whilst  he  had  been  left 
on  the  ground  with  the  attendants  and  donkeys.  It  may 
be  worth  mentioning,  that  Mr.  Hansard  has  a  decidedly 
artistic  temperament.”  2 

These  facts  of  normal  liypermnesia  are  still  more  curious 
than  the  much  better  established  facts  of  liypermnesia 
from  morbid  causes.  They  show  clearly,  on  the  one  hand, 
the  incalculable  power  of  resuscitation  of  the  impressions 
received  at  the  beginning  of  life,  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  close  relation  which  exists  between  attention  and 
memory,  between  well  seeing  and  well  remembering.  And 
seeing  how  much  sensibility  influences  attention,  it  ap- 


1  Abercrombie,  Essay  on  Intellectual  Powers,  p.  120. 

2  Carpenter,  Mental  Physiology,  p.  431. 


MEMORY. 


127 


pears  evident  to  us  that  the  quality  of  the  memory  depends 
still  more  on  affectivity  than  on  intelligence.  I  am  led  to 
believe  that  much  that  is  put  down  to  want  of  attention  is 
in  reality  want  of  sensibility.  Is  it  from  want  of  attention 
or  from  defective  sensibility  that  old  people,  idiots,  and 
young  children  have  such  bizarre  and  scatter-brained 
recollections?  Perhaps  it  is  owing  to  both  these  causes. 
The  feebleness  and  intermittence  with  which  impressions 
are  transmitted  along  the  peripheric  nerves,  and  with 
which  they  strike  on  the  intellectual,  motor,  and  sensory 
centres,  in  all  these  cases,  necessarily  cause  incomplete 
and  disconnected  emotions,  ideas,  judgments,  volitions, 
and  movements.  However  this  may  be,  the  debility  of  the 
organs  in  old  people  in  their  dotage,  and  young  children, 
shows  itself  in  two  opposite  ways — dispersion  and  fixed¬ 
ness  of  ideas  and  sentiments.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
both  in  the  period  of  infancy;  and  there  is  no  doubt  that 
the  babbling, — at  first  monotonous  but  gradually  becoming 
rather  varied, — which  babies  of  two  months  will  repeat 
several  times  a  day,  after  hearing  some  one  speak  or  sing 
near  them,  and  later  on  their  parrot-like  chatter,  and  also 
the  rambling  talk  of  old  people,  are  the  result  of  some 
dominant  recollections  which  pass  and  repass  in  their 
minds,  along  with  a  train  of  vaguer  reminiscences.  I 
should  explain  in  the  same  manner  the  apparently  auto¬ 
matic  movements  of  the  eyes,  arms,  and  legs,  which  young 
children  make  with  so  much  animation  and  so  little  sig¬ 
nification,  in  their  cradles,  in  their  nurse’s  arms,  or  when 
set  upright  on  the  ground.  These  are  often  impulsions, 
desires,  repulsions,  ideas,  sensations,  and  feelings,  recol¬ 
lected  more  or  less  consciously,  but  with  alternations  of 
incoherence  and  importunity,  which  the  purely  instinctive 
need  of  locomotion  does  not  sufficiently  explain. 

This  intermittent  importunity  of  recollections  differs 
from  monomania,  in  that  it  is  generally  connected  with 
objects  that  are  present,  or  with  the  remembrance  of 
familiar  objects.  A  little  girl  of  eight  months,  when  she 
has  been  sucking,  makes  a  movement  with  her  arm  anal¬ 
ogous  to  that  of  a  person  ringing  a  bell;  it  is  because  she 
is  absorbed  in  the  idea  of  a  little  bell  which  serves  her  as 


128  THE  FIEST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


a  plaything;  if  she  has  it  in  her  hands,  she  makes  it 
tinkle  for  a  few  minutes,  carries  it  to  her  mouth,  rings  it 
again,  and  then  throws  it  carelessly  away.  When  she 
has  shaken  her  other  toys  about  for  a  little  while  she  asks 
for  her  bell  again  by  the  usual  gesture,  and  she  will  re¬ 
peat  the  same  manoeuvres  more  than  twenty  times  in  half  an 
hour,  if  she  is  indulged;  this  is  purely  a  reflex  habit.  One 
day,  when  I  was  visiting  her  parents,  I  imitated  the  little 
girl’s  movements  with  a  box  which  was  very  brilliantly 
colored,  and  made  an  exciting  noise:  the  child  at  once 
wanted  the  box,  and  shook  it  about  with  evident  delight. 
After  two  or  three  minutes  I  put  her  little  bell  back  into 
her  hand ;  she  shook  it  with  an  air  of  indifference,  and  very 
soon  threw  it  away.  I  then  gave  her  the  box  again,  and 
she  shook  it  about  for  a  long  time,  crowing  with  delight. 
This  box  remained  her  one  interest  and  occupation  for 
nearly  an  hour;  the  little  bell  was  supplanted.  Another 
fixed  idea,  analogous  it  is  true,  had  replaced  the  habitual 
one.  This  temporary  possession  of  the  mind  by  an  idea  is 
most  noticeable  in  little  children  beginning  to  talk ;  whether 
it  be  that  names,  by  recalling  the  objects,  give  them  a 
clearer  idea  of  them  and  stronger  recollection  or  desire,  or 
that  the  mere  sound  of  words  which  have  no  meaning  for 
them  keep  their  brains  and  vocal  organs  on  the  alert. 
A  relation  of  mine,  when  fifteen  months  old,  would  keep 
on  incessantly  repeating  the  double  sound  a-teau,  which 
represented  to  him  the  idea  of  boats  (bateaux),  which  he 
had  seen  on  a  river,  and  which  had  made  him  wild  with 
delight. 

Some  months  afterwards  his  vocabulary  was  augmented 
by  the  following  jargon,  “  Cute  noi,  toute  vitai;  cote  Man, 
toute  jolie.”  This  black  cucotte  and  this  white  cocotte  were 
two  liens,  which  he  used  to  go  and  look  at  two  or  three 
hundred  times  a  day  in  their  yard  at  the  bottom  of  the 
garden ;  the  white  hen  was  very  gentle,  but  the  black  one 
sometimes  pecked  liis  fingers  when  taking  the  food  he 
brought  them.  The  boats  and  the  hens  were  at  this  time 
his  absorbing  preoccupations.  Some  months  later,  having 
made  a  railway  journey,  he  used  to  talk  every  day  of  the 
locomotives,  the  carriages,  the  whistle,  and  the  steam: 


MEMOKY. 


129 


min  fer  had  supplanted  the  boats  and  the  cocottes  in  his 
brain  and  his  conversation.  One  of  the  most  debated 
questions  of  the  day,  and  one  interesting  alike  to  psychol¬ 
ogists  and  pedagogists,  is  whether  it  is  possible  in  early 
infancy  to  form  an  estimate  of  the  intellectual  faculties  of 
a  child,  and  especially  of  its  memory — memory,  i.  e.,  in 
the  sense  of  reproduction  of  ideas.  Gall,  and  many  others 
after  him,  have  inclined  to  the  affirmative.  This  savant 
considered  that  large  prominent  eyes  were  the  index  of  a 
facile  memory  (always,  be  it  understood,  a  memory  for 
ideas).  I  believe  I  have  also  heard  thick  eyebrows  men¬ 
tioned  as  signs  of  a  like  facility,  and  especially  of  tenacity 
of  memory,  or  at  least  eyebrows  which  are  close  together, 
and  which  also  denote  jealousy.  My  personal  observa¬ 
tions  do  not  warrant  me  in  either  adopting  or  rejecting 
any  of  these  theories. 

But  I  hope  that  the  study  of  the  connection  between 
physiognomy  and  transmitted  faculties,  will  furnish  the 
means  of  determining,  even  before  children  can  speak, 
whether  they  have  good  or  bad  memories,  and  that  we  shall 
thus  be  able  to  improve  the  bad  memories  by  exercise 
and  training.  Then,  too,  it  will  be  possible,  and  very  use¬ 
ful,  to  be  able  from  the  first  months  of  life  to  distinguish 
between  the  original  aptitudes  of  the  memory  and  those 
acquired  under  the  influence  of  various  circumstances,  to 
mark  the  union  and  the  conflict  of  the  one  with  the  other, 
in  a  word,  to  determine  how  far  exercise  and  education 
modify  the  memory,  as  a  whole  and  in  its  special  adapta¬ 
tions. 

I  must  particularly  insist  on  the  error  of  considering 
memory  as  ail  intellectual  faculty  having  different  adapta¬ 
tions,  and  of  believing,  for  instance,  that  memory  for  sen¬ 
timents  is  one  of  these  adaptations.  The  truth  is,  that 
there  exists  in  every  human  being,  not  one,  but  several 
memories.  Not  only  do  we  recollect  our  past  sentiments 
and  affections,  without  experiencing  them  over  again,  but 
sentiment  only  persists  on  condition  of  keeping  its  place 
in  the  memory.  “The  most  affectionate  heart,”  says 
Chateaubriand,  “would  lose  its  tenderness,  if  it  did  not 
remember.”  We  can  say  that,  in  regard  to  sensibility  and 


130  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


the  emotional  life,  each  one  has  its  memories,  more  or 
less  marked  and  tenacious.  In  the  same  way  that  each 
sense,  and  each  intellectual  faculty,  has  its  memory,  or  its 
associations  of  memory,  more  or  less  energetic  according 
to  the  individual  organization,  so  all  sentiments  and  all 
combinations  of  sentiment  have  their  memories,  which  are 
unequally  distributed  among  men.  Caesar,  it  is  said, 
never  forgot  injuries:  some  other  people  forget  neither 
the  good  nor  the  evil  which  is  done  to  them,  and  others 
again  only  forget  the  good. 

This  mode  of  conceiving  of  emotional  memory,  which 
throws  a  new  light  on  the  genesis  of  passions  and  desires, 
enables  us  in  many  cases  to  penetrate  to  the  bottom  of  the 
infant  soul.  Underlying  all  the  sentiments  and  tendencies 
which  manifest  themselves  at  given  moments  of  life  are 
the  tendencies  and  sentiments  inherited  from  our  ances¬ 
tors,  who  have  exercised  and  developed  them  before  us; 
and  the  same  also  may  be  said  of  our  pains  and  our  pleas¬ 
ures  ;  we  know  not  how  much  of  the  past  enters  into  the 
joys  and  sorrows  of  the  present.  The  impressions  of  our 
emotional  life  people  our  souls  and  our  sensoriums,  and 
are  always  ready  to  be  revived  afresh,  whether  with  or 
without  our  consciousness.  It  is  the  same  with  past 
emotions  as  with  past  ideas:  consciousness  only  reveals 
an  infinitesimal  part  of  them.  This  is  what  the  poet 
Musset  expresses  with  so  much  delicacy  in  the  following 
lines:  — 

“  Et  l’on  songe  h,  tout  ce  qu’on  aime 
Sans  le  savoir.” 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

THE  ASSOCIATION  OF  PSYCHICAL  STATES. 

I. 


ASSOCIATION. 

Association  is  the  state  of  dynamical  connection  which 
accompanies  the  production  and  reproduction,  not  only  of 
the  facts  of  intellectual  and  moral  life,  but  of  all  the 
mental,  muscular,  and  nervous  facts  which  are  co-or¬ 
dinated  if  not  altogether  brought  about  in  certain  fixed 
regions  of  the  brain.  Association  is  not,  properly  speak¬ 
ing,  a  special  faculty,  like  sensibility,  emotion,  and  motor 
activity.  It  is  one  of  the  apparent  or  underlying  forms  of 
all  organic  or  psychic  manifestations.  Everything  is  con¬ 
tinuous  and  bound  together,  in  our  perceptions,  our  affec¬ 
tions,  our  thoughts,  and  our  volitions.  We  have  already 
seen  that  all  our  distinct  ideas  of  objects  are  equivalent  to 
syntheses  or  associations  of  ideas  arrived  at  synthetically. 
These  abstractions  and  groups  of  perceptions,  which  are 
found  in  the  apparently  simplest  ideas,  explain  the  nature 
and  conditions  of  psychic  life,  which  is  a  series  of  mental 
states  reproduced  and  capable  of  combining  with  other 
series  of  the  same  kind  and  with  impressions  of  the 
moment  inserted  in  the  complex  woof  of  former  combina¬ 
tions. 

It  is  impossible  to  know  at  what  moment  of  the  foetal 
or  intra-uterine  life,  associations  of  mental  states,  prop¬ 
erly  so  called,  begin.  Some  have  certainly  been  formed 
long  before  the  time  when  we  first  observe  them.  In  fact, 


131 


132  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


what  external  signs  could  reveal  tlie  numerous  impressions 
which  must  associate  themselves  together  to  produce  even 
a  hazy  knowledge  of  the  simplest  object,  such  as  the  feed¬ 
ing  bottle,  the  nurse’s  face,  etc.  ? 

M.  Ribot  vividly  describes  all  that  is  involved  in  a  recol¬ 
lection  which  consciousness  presents  to  us  as  sinxple : 

“The  memory  of  an  apple  is  necessarily  a  weakened 
form  of  the  perception  of  an  apple.  What  does  this  per¬ 
ception  suppose?  A  modification  of  the  complex  structure 
of  the  retina,  transmission  by  the  optic  nerve  through  the 
corpora  geniculata  and  the  tubercula  quadrigemina  to  the 
cerebral  ganglia  (optic  tract?),  then  through  the  white 
substance  to  the  cortex.  This  supposes  the  activity  of 
many  widely  separated  elements.  But  this  is  by  no  means 
all.  It  is  not  a  question  of  a  simple  sensation  of  color. 
We  see,  or  imagine,  the  apple  is  a  solid  object  having  a 
spherical  form.  These  conceptions  result  from  the  ex¬ 
quisite  muscular  sensibility  of  our  visual  apparatus  and 
from  its  movements.  Now,  the  movements  of  the  eye  are 
regulated  by  several  nerves — the  sympathetic,  the  oculo¬ 
motor,  and  its  branches.  Each  of  these  nerves  has  its 
own  termination,  and  is  connected  by  a  devious  course 
with  the  outer  cerebral  layer,  where  the  motor  intuitions, 
according  to  Maudsley,  are  formed.  We  simply  indicate 
outlines.  For  further  details  the  reader  should  consult 
standard  works  on  anatomy  and  physiology.  But  we 
have  given  an  idea  of  the  prodigious  number  of  nervous 
filaments  and  distinct  communities  of  cells  scattered 
through  the  different  parts  of  the  cerebro-spinal  axis, 
which  serve  as  the  basis  for  the  psychical  state  known  as 
the  memory  of  an  apple,  and  which  the  double  illusion  of 
consciousness  and  language  leads  us  to  consider  as  a  sin¬ 
gle  fact.”  1 

Under  these  circumstances,  then,  we  cannot  hope  to 
“seize  in  the  act”  the  first  associations  formed  in  a  child’s 
mind  between  the  different  perceptions — visual,  muscular, 
and  motive,  auditive,  or  tactile,  or  between  these  percep- 


1  Ribot,  Maladies  de  la  Memoire.  See  Eng.  Trans.  (Intemat.  Scient. 
Series),  pp.  42,  43, 


ASSOCIATION. 


133 


tions  and  different  sensory  and  emotional  conditions: 
these  facts  go  on  in  the  mysterious  depths  of  consciousness, 
if  even  they  do  not  belong  in  part  to  unconscious  cerebra¬ 
tion.  We  must  be  content  to  point  out  the  most  apparent. 

Darwin  does  not  notice  any  positive  manifestation  of 
ideas  in  a  child’s  mind  before  the  age  of  five  months.  For 
instance,  speaking  of  one  of  his  children  at  this  age,  he 
says,  “As  soon  as  his  hat  and  cloak  had  been  put  on,  he 
became  very  cross  if  not  taken  out  at  once.  At  five 
months  his  eyes  would  seek  his  nurse  when  he  heard  her 
name  pronounced.”  This  date,  which  to  me  seems  tardy, 
is  much  nearer  the  truth,  however,  than  that  of  ten  months, 
indicated  by  M.  Taiue  for  the  appearance  of  the  same 
phenomenon  in  his  daughter.  Tiedemann,  rightly  or 
wrongly,  notes  the  beginning  of  the  association  of  ideas 
two  days  after  birth.  If  any  one  placed  his  son  “on  his 
side  in  a  position  to  suck,  or  if  he  felt  a  soft  hand  on  his 
face,  he  became  quiet  and  felt  about  for  the  breast.” 
“Here,”  writes  his  father,  “association  of  ideas  is  evident, 
the  feeling  of  a  particular  position  or  of  a  soft  hand  awak¬ 
ing  the  idea  of  sucking  at  the  breast.  On  the  26th  of 
January,  when  five  months  old,  the  growing  desire  to  learn 
manifested  itself  more  plainly.  The  nurse,  whenever  the 
weather  permitted,  took  him  out  into  the  street,  which 
delighted  him  beyond  measure;  and  in  spite  of  the  cold, 
he  was  always  very  eager  for  this  event.  The  child  soon 
learnt  to  notice,  that  when  the  nurse  took  up  her  cloak  it  was 
a  signal  for  going  out;  and  he  smiled  and  crowed,  even  in 
the  midst  of  his  tears,  every  time  she  performed  the  opera¬ 
tion.” 

When  I  put  two  little  kittens  (three  days  old)  which  T 
am  rearing,  on  my  hand  in  a  standing  position,  they  will 
remain  some  seconds  without  stirring,  as  if  enjoying  the 
heat  of  my  hand;  but  soon,  the  contact  of  my  skin  not 
affording  them  the  same  sensation  as  that  of  the  body  of 
their  mother,  they  begun  to  shake  their  heads,  show  signs 
of  uneasiness,  move  about  on  their  little  tottering  paws, 
and  try  to  suck  that  portion  of  my  hand  which  has  pos¬ 
sibly  reminded  them  of  their  mother’s  breast.  But  as  the 
sucking  produces  no  result,  after  a  few  fruitless  efforts  they 


134  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


become  more  and  more  uneasy;  they  do  not  feel  at  home; 
they  have  begun  to  realize  the  difference  between  my  hand 
and  their  mother’s  warm,  soft  body,  and  they  begin  to 
to  pine  for  their  familiar  shelter,  and  to  cry  out  for  it 
loudly. 

These  few  facts,  taken  at  random,  show  us  how  very 
early,  both  in  young  children  and  young  animals,  the  exer¬ 
cise  of  this  physical  and  intellectual  faculty,  formerly  in¬ 
correctly  called  association  of  ideas,  but  which  is  really 
the  associability  of  all  the  actions  of  the  nervous  systems, 
either  with  their  congeners  or  with  their  neighbors,  comes 
into  play. 

All  the  first  manifestations  of  animal  sensibility  testify 
to  the  faculty  which  the  mind  has  of  associating  and  blend¬ 
ing  in  one  the  different  series  of  homogeneous  impressions 
which  it  receives.  A  baby  fifteen  days  old,  who  had  just 
gone  to  sleep,  and  in  whose  mouth  I  put  a  feeding  bottle 
filled  with  plain  water,  sucked  it  for  a  few  minutes  and 
then  began  to  make  faces,  to  open  its  mouth,  and  finally 
to  cry.  The  same  child,  who  was  lying  awake  in  its 
mother’s  arms,  was  taken  up  in  the  same  position  by  its 
uncle,  and  began  at  once  to  whimper.  A  child  two  months 
old,  who  already  smiled  consciously  at  his  nurse,  would 
allow  himself  to  be  fed  by  another  nurse,  his  own  being 
close  by.  These  examples  prove  that  homogeneous  sensa¬ 
tions  were  associated  in  their  minds  to  such  a  point  that 
they  recognized  them  when  they  were  reproduced,  and 
that,  not  finding  them  when  they  expect  them,  they  suf¬ 
fer  in  consequence,  in  spite  of  the  feebleness  of  their 
powers  of  comparison. 

Herbert  Spencer  gives  to  this  remarkable  phenomenon 
the  name  of  integration  of  the  sensations.  “A  color,  the 
moment  it  is  perceived,  not  only  irresistibly  aggregates 
with  the  class  of  feelings  that  originate  on  the  outer  sur¬ 
face  and  imply  outer  stimuli,  but  also  with  the  sub-class 
of  visual  sensations,  and  cannot  be  forced  into  any  other 
sub-class.  While  being  recognized,  a  sound  falls  simul¬ 
taneously  into  the  general  assemblage  of  feelings  derived 
from  the  senses  which  hold  converse  with  the  external 
world,  and  also  into  the  more  special  assemblage  of  feel- 


ASSOCIATION. 


135 


ings  distinguished  as  auditory;  and  no  effort  will  separate 
it  from  this  special  assemblage.  And  to  say  a  smell  cannot 
he  thought  of  as  a  color  or  a  sound,  is  to  say  that  it 
associates  itself  indissolubly  with  previously  experienced 
smells.”  1 

On  the  other  hand,  “these  simultaneous  impressions, — 
optic,  olfactory,  acoustic, — received  at  the  same  moment, 
and  in  several  circumscribed  localities  at  the  same  time, 
constitute  a  series  of  contemporaneous  souvenirs,  which  are 
created  and  implanted  in  the  memory;  and  henceforth 
those  vibrations  which  were  born  together,  and  were  simul¬ 
taneously  conceived,  will  represent  in  the  series  of  remi¬ 
niscences,  a  definite  group,  of  which  the  elements,  united 
by  the  bonds  of  a  mysterious  federation,  will  all  live  with 
the  same  life,  anastomose  one  with  another,  and  recall  one 
another  as  soon  as  one  link  of  the  chain  is  struck.  ” 2 

My  two  kittens,  which  the  mother  had  left  to  go  and  lap 
up  a  saucer  of  milk  I  had  put  down  for  her,  after  tumbling 
over  and  over  for  a  few  minutes,  at  last  cuddled  together 
to  go  to  sleep.  Suddenly  the  mother  returned  and  sprang 
lightly  into  the  box  without  touching  her  kittens.  In¬ 
stantly,  however,  they  sat  up,  as  if  moved  by  a  spring;  the 
slight  noise  which  the  mother  had  made  in  getting  back 
into  the  box,  and  the  movement  which  she  imparted  to  it 
and  which  they  had  felt,  produced  auditory  and  muscular 
impressions  which  became  associated  in  their  brain  with 
the  idea  of  her  presence;  and  to  the  idea  of  her  presence 
was  joined  the  desire  to  suck,  for  they  immediately  set  to 
work  at  this  operation. 

When  six  weeks  old,  these  same  cats,  having  made  ac¬ 
quaintance  with  raw  meat,  precipitated  themselves,  one 
after  the  other,  on  a  ball  of  red  paper,  which  they  had 
taken  for  a  piece  of  meat,  and  were  beginning  to  eat.  The 
sensation  of  a  particular  color  was  associated  in  their 
minds  with  the  idea  of  food,  and  with  the  movements  of 
absorption  and  prehension,  which  they  already  produced 
by  reflex  action. 


1  Herbert  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology ,  p.  255. 

2Luys,  Le  Uerveau  et  ses  Fonctions.  See  Eng.  Trans.  (Internat. 
Scient.  Series),  p.  154. 


136  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


A  little  child,  of  four  months  and  a  half,  was  in  its 
mother’s  arms;  its  nurse,  who  had  just  returned  after  a 
short  holiday,  before  coming  into  the  room,  put  her  mouth 
to  the  key-hole  and  in  her  most  coaxing  voice  called  little 
Paul  three  or  four  times.  The  latter  first  raised  his  head, 
then  turned  to  the  right  and  the  left,  and  cast  questioning 
looks  at  his  mother;  the  nurse  went  over  the  comedy 
again,  laughing  rather  loud.  Paul  could  not  stand  it  any 
longer;  he  held  out  his  little  arms,  and  made  impatient 
starts  of  joy,  desire  and  vexation,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
tears,  when  his  mother,  to  spare  him  unnecessary  teasing, 
called  in  the  nurse.  Thus  the  sound  of  his  nurse’s  voice 
and  laugh  had  become  very  early  associated  with  the  idea 
of  her  person,  with  the  pleasure  of  her  presence,  of  the 
need  of  seeing  her  when  she  spoke,  and  with  instinctive 
movements  to  he  taken  in  her  arms. 

A  little  child  a  year  old  could  not  see  a  hat  or  bonnet, 
or  any  article  which  appeared  to  he  a  covering  for  the 
head,  without  saying,  “ Mene ,  mene'"  ( ■promener ),  by  which 
he  meant  that  some  one  was  to  take  him  by  the  hand  and 
lead  him  out  for  a  walk.  Whilst  playing  one  day  at  a 
table,  he  took  a  little  round  mat  and  put  it  on  his  head, 
calling  out  ‘'Mene,  mene."  He  said  the  same  thing  also 
when  his  aunt  touched  an  umbrella.  The  word  “ peudu ” 
(perdu)  is  associated  in  his  mind  with  the  idea  of  any 
object  that  he  sees  fall  down,  and  which  he  throws  away, 
or  which  he  cannot  see  when  he  hears  it  talked  about. 
One  day  he  took  my  hand  with  both  his,  stroked  it,  shook 
it  about  like  one  of  his  playthings,  and  then,  the  fancy 
seizing  him  to  throw  it  on  the  ground,  he  pushed  it  away 
and  let  go  of  it,  saying,  “Peudu,"  and  looking  on  the  floor 
to  see  where  it  had  gone.  If  a  flower  is  given  him  to 
smell,  he  sniffs  it  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  imme¬ 
diately  offers  it  to  some  one  else  to  smell.  When  he  is 
walking  in  the  garden  by  the  flower  beds,  he  seizes  hold 
of  the  stalks  of  flowers,  drags  them  towards  him,  and 
gives  whatever  remains  in  his  hand  to  some  one  to  smell. 
The  sight  of  the  smoke  which  I  puff  out  of  my  lips  when 
indulging  in  a  cigar,  causes  him  to  make  a  very  curious 
movement  of  expiration  resembling  +he  action  of  a  smoker. 


ASSOCIATION. 


137 


But  smoke  of  all  sorts  attracts  him,  and  makes  him 
say  “ Mote and  when  he  is  near  it,  if  it  is  I  who  am  with 
him,  he  looks  at  me  with  a  happy  expression,  and  makes 
this  movement  of  the  lips  which  his  grandfather  has  taught 
him,  and  which  I  have  already  noticed  in  another  child. 

Thus  we  find  in  young  children  the  same  kinds  of  asso¬ 
ciations  as  in  adults.  There  is  not  one  of  the  combina¬ 
tions  of  associations  which  have  been  studied  so  carefully 
by  psychologists,  of  which  we  cannot  find  at  least  a  faint 
foreshadowing  in  a  child  of  six  or  seven  months.  We  can 
also  discern  in  little  children  a  sketchy  idea  of  the  rela¬ 
tions  of  sequence,  which  is  the  principle  of  the  idea  of 
time.  A  child  eight  months  old,  to  whom  its  mother  held 
out  her  arms  while  advancing  towards  it,  stopped  for  a  mo¬ 
ment,  and  then  held  out  his  arms;  she  called  him,  hut  did 
not  yet  go  up  to  him,  he  gesticulated  with  his  whole  body 
and  began  to  scream;  she  advanced  a  little  nearer,  and 
he  pushed  himself  forward  as  if  to  hasten  the  meeting. 
Thus  movements,  begun  at  a  certain  distance  and  in  his 
direction,  were  associated  in  his  mind  with  the  idea  of  con¬ 
tinuation. 

A  child  of  eleven  months  warbles,  as  a  sort  of  accom¬ 
paniment,  so  to  say,  when  his  nurse  sings  a  simple  little 
air,  which  he  is  very  fond  of,  and  which  she  has  sung  to 
him  ever  since  his  birth.  If  the  nurse  stops  in  the  middle, 
or  does  not  quite  finish  the  song,  the  child  looks  at  her 
with  astonishment  and  stops  his  warbling  ;  if  the  nurse 
goes  on  with  the  song  where  she  left  off,  the  child  evinces 
great  delight.  These  associations  of  successive  sensations, 
multiplied  to  infinity,  prepare  for  the  formation  of  the  ab¬ 
stract  and  general  idea  of  time,  which  develops  so  slowly 
in  young  children,  even  after  they  have  begun  to  talk.  A 
child  six  months  old  will  cry  for  his  bottle  as  if  he  was 
starving,  even  if  he  has  had  it  a  little  while  before,  as  soon 
as  day  begins  to  dawn.  The  mother  says,  “He  guesses 
that  it  is  time  for  his  breakfast.”  No,  but  the  return  of 
light  is  associated  in  his  mind  with  the  idea  of  sucking  his 
bottle,  and  this  is  why  the  morning  twilight  provokes  in 
him  the  factitious  need  of  a  meal.  We  may  notice  this 
kind  of  association,  and  consequently  a  faint  rudiment  of 


138  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


the  concrete  ideas  of  time,  in  the  supposed  instinct  which 
causes  even  very  young  animals  to  know  the  hours  of  their 
masters’  or  their  friends’  meals.  Who  has  not  seen  dogs, 
cats,  and  birds  put  in  a  punctual  appearance  in  gardens 
and  houses,  at  the  hours  when  meals  are  going  on  ?  It  is 
an  indisputable  fact  that  signs  analogous  to  those  which 
give  us  our  ideas  of  time,  that  is  to  say,  successions  of 
impressions,  indicate  to  these  dumb  creatures  the  oppor¬ 
tune  moment  for  returning  to  their  restaurants. 

The  associations  of  resemblance  are  not  less  clearly 
expressed  by  the  language  of  action  in  little  children.  A 
boy  of  nine  months  is  opposite  me.  His  grandmother  has 
just  pronounced  the  word  papa.  The  child  smiles  at  her, 
then  at  me,  and  holds  out  his  arms  to  me.  The  child  cer¬ 
tainly  did  not  take  me  for  his  father,  even  at  first  sight ; 
but  certain  general  resemblances  between  me  and  the 
father  had  awakened,  at  the  name  of  papa,  the  ideas,  feel¬ 
ings,  and  actions  which  had  for  a  long  time  been  asso¬ 
ciated  with  the  presence  of  his  father,  and  which  caused 
the  child  to  smile  at  me,  to  hold  out  his  arms,  to  utter  lit¬ 
tle  cries  of  joy,  to  embrace  me  and  let  himself  be  fondled 
by  me. 

It  is  by  associations  of  this  kind  that  little  children  learn 
very  early  to  see  well-known  people  or  things  in  other 
people  or  things,  resembling  them  in  some  way.  In  a  very 
remarkable  article, — though,  unhappily  for  the  study  in 
which  we  are  engaged,  the  observations  are  not  taken  till 
after  the  age  of  three  months, — M.  Taine  notes  the  follow¬ 
ing  facts,  “She  sees  her  grandfather  everyday,  for.  they 
show  her  his  portrait  drawn  in  crayon,  much  smaller  than 
life,  but  very  like  him.  When  any  one  says  to  her, 
‘Where  is  grandpapa?  ’  she  turns  towards  this  portrait  and 
smiles.  But  before  her  grandmother’s  portrait,  which  is 
much  less  like,  she  shows  no  sign  of  recognition.” 

It  is  this  association  of  like  ideas  which  suggests  to  little 
children  those  comparisons  which  we  often  take  for  ab¬ 
stract  generalizations,  and  which  cause  the  little  chatter¬ 
boxes  to  talk  of  everything  cl  propos  of  everything,  their 
vivid  and  inexperienced  imagination  showing  them  every¬ 
where  the  known  in  the  unknown,  the  like  in  the  unlike. 


ASSOCIATION. 


139 


It  is  this  imagination  also  which  makes  them  afterwards 
seize  so  vividly  and  be  so  startled  at  contrasts  in  objects 
and  actions  in  which  at  first  sight  they  thought  they  saw 
similarity.  It  is  this  which  suggests  to  them  analogies  of 
all  sorts,  which  to  us  seem  sometimes  so  strange  and  unac¬ 
countable,  but  which  are  so  natural  to  them,  though  at  the 
same  time  they  have  only  an  external  signification  for 
them.  For  instance,  a  little  girl  who  had  seen  some  cock¬ 
chafers  on  a  tree,  asked,  “When  would  the  cockchafers  be¬ 
gin  to  bud?”  Again,  it  is  the  association  of  analogous 
sounds  which  causes  children’s  strong  liking  for  allitera¬ 
tion  and  consonances;  this  taste  first  of  all  shows  itself  in 
meaningless  repetitions  and  later  by  their  delight  in  music 
and  rhymes. 

I  do  not  think  it  is  possible  to  determine  in  children 
who  cannot  yet  talk,  the  existence  of  associations  based  on 
the  law  of  contrast.  Is  it  not  possible  that  for  the  fusion 
of  opposite  ideas  a  greater  degree  of  intellectual  develop¬ 
ment  and  a  greater  power  of  comparison  is  needed  than  a 
child  of  hardly  a  year  old  possesses?  Children  pass  from 
the  easy  to  the  easy,  from  like  to  like,  before  advancing 
from  the  easy  to  the  more  difficult,  from  like  to  difference, 
from  analogy  to  contrast. 

Besides  these  connections,  which  philosophers  have  en¬ 
titled  accidental  or  fortuitous,  there  are  others  which  they 
have  distinguished  by  the  name  of  logical  or  rational,  such 
as  the  relations  of  cause  to  consequence,  of  means  to  ends, 
of  signs  to  the  things  signified.  I  wish  merely  to  remind 
my  readers  of  this  order  of  classification,  without  attempt¬ 
ing  to  discuss  it.  I  shall  confine  myself  to  remarking 
that,  the  laws  of  nature  and  intelligence  being  given,  there 
is  not  one  of  the  different  kinds  of  association  enumerated 
above  which  does  not  necessarily  exist  in  every  intelligence. 
The  proof  of  this  is,  that  all  or  nearly  all  the  forms  of  as¬ 
sociation  called  logical,  exhibit  themselves,  as  well  as  the 
others,  in  young  infants.  What  baby  is  there  of  three  or 
four  months,  who,  having  burnt  itself  with  a  candle  or  the 
fire,  or  what  child  of  ten  months,  who,  having  had  a  nasty 
dose  of  medicine,  will  not  recoil  instinctively  at  the  sight 
of  these  objects,  which  remind  them  of  the  pain  or  disgust 


110  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


they  have  caused.  Here  we  have  the  concrete  idea  of 
cause  associated  with  the  concrete  idea  of  effect.  The 
relation  of  the  means  to  the  end,  which  in  children’s  minds 
is  confounded  with  that  of  cause  to  effect  or  succession, 
is  a  matter  of  daily  practical  application  at  the  earliest  age. 
The  sight  of  then-  food  and  toys,  of  the  people  and  objects 
who  please  them  and  gratify  their  desires,  or  the  reverse, 
remind  them  at  every  moment  that  they  are  the  instru¬ 
ments  of  their  pleasure  or  their  pain.  When,  at  the  age  of 
three  months,  they  cry  for  their  food,  or  to  be  rocked  to 
sleep,  they  already  possess  a  concrete  idea  of  a  means 
tending  to  an  end;  and  what  is  more,  they  utilize  this 
knowledge  in  their  own  way.  They  know  well  enough, 
long  before  they  can  speak,  what  such  a  sound  or  such  a 
modulation  of  the  voice  means,  what  is  the  signification  of 
this  attitude  or  that  gesture;  in  a  word,  the  sign  and  the 
thing  signified  are  associated  in  their  young  minds.  As  to 
the  associations  established  concerning  the  relationship  of 
genus  to  species,  we  should  not  be  able  to  find  more  than 
very  vague  rudiments  of  these  in  little  children,  whose 
power  of  generalization  is  always  rather  feeble,  needing,  as 
it  does,  for  full  play  a  fairly  large  amount  of  experience 
combined  with  considerable  progress  in  the  acquisition  of 
speech. 

M.  L.  Ferri,  in  an  interesting  article  on  The  First  Three 
Years  of  Childhood has  expressed  his  opinion  that  the 
intelligence  of  a  child  exists  in  a  degree  and  is  exercised  in 
a  sphere  proportioned  to  the  degree  of  experience  of  which 
the  child  is  capable  before  it  has  acquired  any  abstract 
notions;  and  that  human  intelligence,  when  it  is  only 
founded  on  the  sensitive  associations  common  alike  to  men 
and  animals,  consists  essentially  in  an  intuitive  activity, 
which  distinguishes  and  combines,  affirms  and  denies  the 
connection  either  of  sensations  or  of  things,  and  is  not 
limited  to  a  passive  reception  of  corresponding  associations. 
This  is  also  my  opinion.  I  think  it  is  the  natural  organi¬ 
zation  only  which  predisposes  a  child  to  modify  certain 


1  In  che  Filosofia  delle  Scuole  Italiane,  Oct.  1879.  See  in  Iievue 
Philos.,  April,  1880,  the  review  of  this  article. 


ASSOCIATION. 


141 


actual  experiences  according  to  the  dynamic  impulsions 
which  anterior  experiences  have  deposited  in  its  organs 
under  the  title  of  latent  energy.  This  would  still  only 
indicate  a  greater  or  less  facility  of  accommodation  in  the 
young  being  to  new  experiences,  and  perhaps  the  necessity 
for  him  of  certain  associations  which  are  imposed  on  him 
by  his  specific  organization,  as  much  as  by  the  nature  of 
things.  At  any  rate,  I  agree  with  M.  Taine  that  the  asso¬ 
ciations  of  ideas  formed  in  the  mind  of  a  child  of  ten 
months,  do  not  go  beyond  the  scope  of  animal  intelligence; 
but  this  may  be  because  I  grant  more  to  the  latter  than 
does  M.  Taine,  or  even  Darwin,  at  any  rate  in  the  above- 
mentioned  treatise.  Darwin  sees  a  marked  difference 
between  the  aptitude  of  a  little  child  and  that  of  the  most 
intelligent  adult  animal,  in  forming  associations  due  to 
instruction  and  associations  spontaneously  produced.  I 
caunot  subscribe  to  this.  Does  the  dog  who  runs  from  the 
bottom  of  the  garden  on  hearing  the  word  sugar,  show  a 
faculty  of  association  inferior  to  that  of  a  child  of  six  or 
seven  months,  who  moves  his  head  from  right  to  left  when 
one  says  to  him,  “  Shake  your  head  ”  ?  I  think  not. 

I  have  had  cited  to  me  an  example  of  association  fur¬ 
nished  by  a  little  French  girl  in  Vienna.  She  was  two 
and  a  half  years  old,  when  she  heard  related  a  detailed 
account  of  the  assassination  of  the  Czar  Alexander  II. 
All  the  events  of  the  narrative  w'ere  firmly  imprinted  on 
her  mind;  but  she  confused  the  assassins  of  the  Emperor 
with  the  men  who  swept  away  the  snow  on  the  scene  of 
the  assassination.  A  fortnight  later,  snow  was  falling  in 
Vienna;  the  window  being  open,  the  child  looked  out  in 
the  street  and  saw  several  men  occupied  in  sweeping  away 
the  snow.  Suddenly  she  cried  out,  “  Oh,  wicked  men, 
they  have  killed  the  Emperor!  me  like  to  see  poor  Emperor 
buried!  ”  But  why  should  we  refuse  to  believe  that  ani¬ 
mals  which  cannot  speak  are  not  susceptible  of  analogous 
associations?  Here  is  an  example  showing  how  durable 
connected  recollections  may  be  in  certain  animals.  “  A 
turtle-dove,  which  had  been  very  carefully  brought  up  by  a 
lady  from  London,  was  given  to  an  officer  who  carried  it 
away  with  him  on  an  expedition.  The  bird  remained 


142  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


absent  a  year  and  a  half.  When  it  was  brought  back 
after  this  interval  of  time,  it  heard  its  former  mistress 
speak  before  it  saw  her.  At  the  first  sound  of  her  voice  it 
showed  signs  of  extraordinary  impatience,  and  fluttered 
about  the  cage,  a  prey  to  excessive  emotions.”  1 

Philosophers  have  often  remarked  the  influence  of  asso¬ 
ciation  ofideas  on  sentiment.  Thus,  the  word  mamma  will 
make  a  child  smile,  whereas  that  of  papa  will  only  make 
him  turn  round  quickly,  to  see  the  person  whom  he  loves 
with  more  of  respect  than  tenderness.  In  general,  the 
habits  founded  on  associations  which  are  the  most  fre¬ 
quently  repeated  appear  to  be  the  strongest.  But  there 
are  cases  where  the  vivacity  of  the  emotions  engenders 
associations  suddenly,  and,  in  consequence,  establishes 
lasting  habits.  Locke  speaks  of  a  little  girl  whom  her 
mother  was  obliged  to  whip,  in  order  to  cure  her  of  the 
bad  habits  she  had  learnt  from  her  nurse.  A  single  day’s 
correction  sufficed.  Painful  affections,  as  we  can  easily 
understand,  have  an  influence  proportioned  to  their  vivac¬ 
ity,  on  our  moral  habits  especially.  Hence  those  who 
have  the  bringing  up  of  children  should  keep  them  as 
much  as  possible  out  of  the  way  of  terrible  spectacles  and 
alarming  tales. 

In  order  to  well  understand  the  mechanism  of  thought 
in  children,  and  to  he  able  to  interpret  at  every  turn  their 
gestures,  words,  and  actions,  we  must  not  overlook  that 
law  of  association  which  causes  memory  to  touch  over  and 
over  again  on  the  culminating  points  of  a  series, — an 
abbreviative  process  which  may  be  succeeded  by  the 
detailed  analysis  of  intermediate  and  secondary  points. 
This  tendency  of  the  mind,  which  enables  the  adult  to 
construct  artificial  chains  of  ideas,  manifests  itself  spon¬ 
taneously  in  children,  and  it  is  possible  to  follow  the 
formation  of  the  chain  up  to  a  certain  point.  I  will  cite 
one  among  a  thousand  examples.  A  lady  had  gone  to  call 
on  a  friend  and  had  taken  with  her  her  little  boy  two 
years  and  four  months  old.  After  the  child  had  well 
inspected  every  corner  of  the  drawing-room,  he  slipped 


‘Frank  Buckland,  Curiosities  of  Natural  History ,  vol.  i.,  p.  183. 


ASSOCIATION. 


143 


through  an  open  door  into  a  little  passage  which  led  into  an 
adjoining  room.  The  door  of  this  room  being  half-open, 
he  went  a  few  steps  into  it,  and  in  so  doing  upset  a  chair. 
This  noise  awoke  the  husband  of  the  lady,  who,  being 
either  tired  or  indisposed,  had  lain  down  on  his  bed  in  his 
clothes,  with  his  nightcap  on  his  head.  “Who  is  there?” 
cried  the  sleeper  disturbed  in  his  slumbers.  The  sudden 
sight  of  this  bizarre  apparition  caused  the  child  inexpress¬ 
ible  fear  and  surprise.  He  ran  out  of  the  room,  took 
refuge  with  his  mother,  and  pulled  her  dress  repeatedly, 
as  if  to  make  her  come  away.  Soon  after  the  mother 
went  home  with  the  child ;  and  the  whole  way  along  the 
child  talked  of  nothing  but  Pierrot  whom  lie  had  seen 
lying  down,  and  who  had  frightened  him  very  much. 
More  than  three  months  later,  when  this  lady  came  to  see 
the  child’s  mother,  the  child  asked  her  abruptly,  “How  is 
Pierrot?  Is  he  sleeping  on  his  bed?”  The  lady  answered 
that  he  slept  in  his  cage  on  a  perch,  and  not  in  a  bod. 
“Is  Pierrot  naughty?  he  frightened  me  very  much.”  The 
lady  thought  he  was  speaking  of  her  sparrow.  Another 
time,  she  answered  him  that  Pierrot  was  dead.  “Then,” 
said  the  child,  “he  is  no  longer  in  bed.”  The  lady  still 
thought  he  meant  the  bird,  which  had  just  died.  The 
child’s  mother  burst  out  laughing,  and  explained  the  mis¬ 
understanding.  These  were  the  salient  points  of  that 
association  of  images  and  ideas  so  alarming  to  the  child. 
To  all  these  prominent  recollections  there  belonged  a  num¬ 
ber  of  others,  which  came  back  capriciously  to  the  child 
when  he  talked  of  this  redoubtable  Pierrot. 

Another  question  of  importance  is,  whether  it  is  easier 
or  more  natural  to  recall  a  series  of  incidents  in  the  same 
order  in  which  they  occurred  or  in  the  inverse  order.  In 
my  opinion,  this  last  kind  of  association  is  essentially  arti¬ 
ficial  ;  but  it  is  not  equally  easy,  or  at  any  rate  habitual,  to 
different  orders  of  mind,  apart  from  all  inequality  of  intel¬ 
ligence.  One  of  my  friends,  a  scientific  man  of  superior 
mind,  sent  me  the  following  reflections  on  this  subject:  “I 
remember  that  Taine  asserts  that  memory  can  reproduce 
ideas  and  incidents  in  the  inverse  order  to  that  in  which 
they  first  arose.  He  cites  as  an  example  a  journey  along 


144  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


a  particular  road,  all  the  events  of  which  can  be  recalled 
by  the  memory  in  an  order  exactly  the  reverse  to  that  in 
which  they  happened,  that  is  to  say,  beginning  at  the  point 
of  arrival  and  going  back  to  the  point  of  departure.  A 
manifest  error.  I  have  vainly  made  the  experiment,  and 
I  have  realized  that  in  a  series  of  objects  or  impressions, 
a,  b,  c,  d,  e,  /,  if  I  wanted  to  go  backwards  from  /  to  the 
preceding  object,  I  was  obliged  by  a  rapid  flight  to  imagine 
myself  as  having  reached  e  or  even  d  before  getting  to  /. 
To  pass  from  e  to  d,  I  must  first  recall  cor  even  b.  Thus, 
having  learnt  by  heart  the  series  of  stations  from  Bor¬ 
deaux  to  Morceux,  it  required  a  tremendous  effort  to  recall 
the  inverted  series  from  Morceux  to  Bordeaux,  and  I  was 
only  able  to  construct  it  by  the  help  of  fragments  of  the 
direct  series.”  Such  a  conclusion  surprised  me  in  a  man 
of  science,  and  one  thoroughly  initiated  in  the  methods  of 
natural  science.  Must  we  conclude  that  he  was  wanting 
in  capacity  to  accomplish  the  feat,  or  was  it  only  want  of 
habit?  It  may  be  that  certain  minds  are  naturally  more 
apt  at  it  than  others.  As  far  as  concerns  my  friend,  I  veri¬ 
fied  by  experience  that  this  operation  is  as  difficult  for  him 
as  it  is  easy  to  myself.  I  made  the  experiment  d  propos 
of  a  road  which  was  well  known  to  us  both  since  our  child¬ 
hood;  taking  a  distance  of  two  leagues  from  a  town  to  a 
village,  I  repeated,  both  inversely  and  otherwise,  every 
little  road  on  the  left  hand  and  on  the  right,  which 
diverged  from  the  high  road.  My  friend  made  some  mis¬ 
takes  even  when  beginning  at  the  point  of  departure,  but 
he  would  have  made  a  still  greater  number  had  he 
attempted  the  reverse  way.  This  faculty,  which  I  am 
convinced  is  essentially  an  acquired  one,  but  which  is  also 
more  or  less  a  natural  gift,  must  be  very  feeble  in  children. 
But  that  it  is  entirely  left  out  at  the  beginning  of  life, 
nothing  seems  to  show. 

It  is  association  which  makes  the  unity  of  our  mental 
existence,  by  establishing  a  natural  bond  between  all  the 
various  parts  of  which  it  is  constituted;  and  it  is  to  asso¬ 
ciation  that  we  must  look  for  the  formation  of  the  habits, 
judgment,  character,  and  morality  of  children.  Associa¬ 
tion  presents  us  with  an  easy  means  of  exercising  the 


ASSOCIATION. 


145 


memory  methodically,  of  verifying  its  acquisitions  and  its 
aptitudes,  of  facilitating  its  play,  and  rectifying  its  errors, 
by  the  facility  which  it  affords  a  child’s  mind — especially 
when  influenced  by  an  adult  will — of  ascending  or  of 
descending  the  chain  of  its  ideas  and  sentiments.  Do 
what  we  will,  however,  we  shall  never  arrive  at  knowing 
and  being  able  to  guide  more  than  a  very  limited  number 
of  the  associations  which  work  in  a  child’s  mind.  The 
important  matter  is,  to  know  that  we  can  discover  and 
establish  a  great  many  essential  ones,  those  which  are  the 
most  apparent  and  habitual,  and  that  we  can  thus  to  a 
certain  extent  move  according  to  our  own  will  the  secret 
springs  of  the  young  character. 

We  must  not  give  in  to  Fenelon’s  opinion,  that  it  is 
enough  to  awaken  the  curiosity  of  a  child  and  to  heap  up 
in  his  memory  a  mass  of  good  materials,  which  will  com¬ 
bine  of  themselves  in  due  time  and  which  the  brain  when 
more  highly  developed  will  arrange  in  systematic  groups; 
we  should  endeavor  as  far  as  possible  to  control  the  first 
impressions  which  sink  unconsciously  into  a  child’s  mind, 
but  still  more  careful  should  we  be  in  the  selection  of  those 
later  ones  which  we  try  to  inculcate  on  him,  and  of  the 
links  which  we  wish  to  establish  between  such  and  such 
perceptions,  sentiments  or  actions ;  for  the  older  a  child 
grows  the  less  must  we  count  on  the  innate  tendency  of 
just  ideas,  suitable  sentiments,  and  useful  impulses  to 
combine  themselves  in  logical  and  durable  associations. 
To  a  child’s  mind  every  combination  is  logical  and  moral 
from  the  mere  fact  of  its  existing.  From  infancy  there¬ 
fore  we  must  keep  careful  guard  over  the  formation  of 
those  associations  over  which  we  have  any  hold.  Why  is 
it  that  domestic  animals, — so  far  as  they  have  escaped 
man’s  training  and  follow  the  natural  impulses  of  their 
organization  combined  with  the  direct  action  of  external 
objects, — appear  to  us  often  to  show  proofs  of  a  surer 
and  quicker  judgment  in  the  things  which  are  useful  for 
them  to  know  than  most  human  beings  would  in  like 
circumstances?  It  is  because  the  instincts  in  each  species, 
and  their  variable  development  in  each  individual,  are  sub¬ 
ject  less  to  imitation  and  to  education  than  to  personal 
n 


146  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


experience,  and  to  the  latter  less  than  to  hereditary  ex¬ 
perience;  and  by  experience  we  mean  associations  firmly 
combined  and  in  a  very  limited  space.  Their  logic  is 
more  limited  than  ours,  and  is  circumscribed  within  a 
small  sphere  of  relations,  hut  in  this  sphere  it  moves 
easily;  it  is  founded  on  the  natural  relations  of  things,  on 
associations  truly  experimental. 

As  much  may  be  said,  in  many  respects,  of  savages.  It 
is  not  only  by  the  acuteness  and  special  adaptions  of  their 
senses  that  they  are  superior  to  us,  but  by  the  judgments, 
limited  it  is  true,  but  founded  on  practical  experience, 
which  they  bring  to  bear  on  the  impressions  of  their 
senses.  Not  only  are  some  of  their  senses, — sight  and 
hearing  for  instance, — of  much  wider  scope  than  ours,  but 
their  daily  life  places  them  in  circumstances  fitted  for  the 
exercise  and  development  of  their  sensorial  judgments. 
Concerning  the  Arawaks,  Hillhouse  says,  “Where  a  Euro¬ 
pean  can  discover  no  indication  whatever,  an  Indian  will 
point  out  the  footsteps  of  any  number  of  negroes,  and  will 
state  the  precise  day  on  which  they  have  passed;  and  if 
on  the  same  day,  he  will  state  the  hour.”  .  .  .  “Along 

with  this  acuteness  of  perception  there  naturally  goes  a 
high  degree  of  skill  in  those  simple  actions  depending  on 
the  immediate  guidance  of  perception.  .  .  .  ”  1  Such 

is  the  result  of  frequent  or  minute  observation  of  a  limited 
number  of  objects.  We  must,  therefore,  be  careful  to 
select  experiences  for  children  who  cannot  choose  for 
themselves,  and  this  not  only  with  a  view  of  developing 
little  by  little  the  sensorial  faculties  of  our  species  till  they 
equal  those  of  savages  and  certain  animals,  but  also  of 
developing,  side  by  side  with  the  perceptions,  the  faculty 
of  judging  and  acting  rightly. 

To  give  a  child  very  little  to  observe  at  a  time,  but  to 
make  it  observe  that  little  well  and  rightly,  is  the  true  way 
of  forming  and  storing  its  mind. 


*H.  Spencer,  Principles  of  Sociology,  p.  88. 


IMAGINATION. 


147 


II. 


IMAGINATION. 

Representative  or  reproductive  imagination,  or  the  return 
of  vivid  impressions,  images,  forms,  sounds,  colors,  objects, 
persons  and  places  which  have  keenly  affected  us,  begins 
to  work  very  early  in  life.  The  child,  hardly  a  month  old, 
who  recognizes  his  mother’s  breast  at  a  very  short  dis¬ 
tance,  shows,  by  the  strong  desire  it  has  to  get  to  it,  that 
this  sight  has  made  an  impression  on  it,  and  that  this 
image  must  be  deeply  engraven  on  its  memory.  The  child 
who,  at  the  age  of  three  months,  turns  sharply  round  on 
hearing  a  bird  sing,  or  on  hearing  the  name  coco  pro¬ 
nounced,  and  looks  about  for  the  bird  cage,  has  formed 
a  very  vivid  idea  of  the  bird  and  the  cage.  When,  a  little 
later,  on  seeing  his  nurse  take  her  cloak,  or  his  mother 
wave  her  umbrella,  he  shows  signs  of  joy  and  pictures  to 
himself  a  walk  out  of  doors,  he  is  again  performing  a  feat 
of  imagination.  In  like  manner,  when,  at  the  age  of 
seven  or  eight  months  old,  having  been  deceived  by  re¬ 
ceiving  a  piece  of  bread  instead  of  cake,  on  finding  out 
the  trick,  he  throws  the  bread  away  angrily,  we  feel  sure 
that  the  image  of  the  cake  must  be  very  clearly  imprinted 
on  his  mind.  Finally,  when  he  begins  to  babble  the  word 
papa,  at  the  sight  of  any  man  whatever,  it  must  be  that 
the  general  characteristics  which  make  uj)  what  he  calls 
papa  are  well  fixed  in  his  imagination. 

The  terrors  which  young  children  and  animals  are  sub¬ 
ject  to,  and  which  are  as  vague  and  unaccountable  as  they 
are  strong,  are  in  both  cases  sure  indices  of  the  workings 
of  the  imagination.  How  can  we  otherwise  explain  a 
child’s  dreams,  the  sudden  tremblings,  the  screams,  the 
sobs,  the  smiles,  the  movements  to  seize  hold  of  an  object 
or  to  repel  it  violently,  which  we  observe  in  an  infant  of 
three  months  while  asleep,  and  which  resemble  the  actions 
produced  during  its  waking  hours  by  fear,  pain,  hunger, 
desire  and  joy?  It  may  be  supposed  that  these  recollec¬ 
tions  of  objects  with  which  he  lias  already  come  into  con¬ 
tact  came  to  him  also  during  the  diurnal  exercise  of  his 
faculties,  but  more  as  means  for  identifying  analogies  and 


148  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


various  feelings,  than  as  distinct  images  in  his  mind.  The 
absorbing  preoccupations  of  their  short  waking  moments 
do  not  leave  children  as  much  time  as  adults  for  imagin¬ 
ing  recollections  or  for  waking  dreams.  Thus,  a  little 
baby  of  two  months  and  a  half,  who  had  been  held  in  his 
father’s  arms  for  ten  minutes,  stretched  out  its  arms 
eagerly  and  with  evident  delight  towards  its  mother  when 
she  advanced  towards  it.  The  numerous  impressions 
with  which  the  father  had  occupied  and  distracted  it  dur¬ 
ing  its  mother’s  absence,  had  they  not  prevented  it  from 
thinking  of  the  absent  one  and  imagining  her  near  at 
hand?  Happily  for  children’s  peace  of  mind  and  delicate 
health,  they  are  rarely  left  to  themselves  while  awake. 

From  my  sitting  room  I  have  often  heard  the  children 
of  working  people,  whose  mothers  had  been  obliged  to 
leave  them  alone  for  a  couple  of  hours,  screaming  dis¬ 
tractedly  in  their  cradles ;  their  agonized  shrieks  of  Mamma, 
mamma,  as  soon  as  they  can  utter  the  sound,  indicate 
clearly  what  was  the  nature  of  the  images  and  senti¬ 
ments  which  distressed  them  several  months  before,  when, 
on  finding  themselves  in  the  same  isolated  state,  they  had 
no  power  of  expressing  their  grief  and  anger.  If  children 
exercise  their  imagination  when  awake,  everything  leads 
us  to  believe  that  they  exercise  it  still  more  during  their 
sleep.  This  is  in  my  mind  the  most  favorable  time  for 
the  intellectual  labor  of  little  children,  labor  which  must 
be  frequent  and  peaceful,  and  whose  value  is  almost 
always  in  direct  ratio  to  the  apparent  repose  of  the  exterior 
organs.  It  is  then  that  those  hallucinatory  sensations 
without  any  present  or  definite  object,  those  vivid  reminis¬ 
cences,  those  countless  associations — flashes  of  abstrac¬ 
tion  and  generalization — those  collocations  verging  on 
comparison,  those  objective  judgments  and  reasonings, 
resuscitate,  under  the  more  or  less  open  eye  of  consciousness, 
in  the  fibres  of  the  brain,  charged  as  they  are  with  recent 
impressions  and  along  which  the  blood  ebbs  and  flows 
rapidly,  awakening  incessantly  the  vitality  which  is 
scarcely  affected  by  the  paralysis  of  slumber. 

Let  us  study  the  transition  from  reproductive  to  pro¬ 
ductive  imagination,  which  is  also  called  poetic  or  creative. 


IMAGINATION. 


149 


As  soon  as  ideas  no  longer  present  themselves  in  the  order 
in  which  the  intelligence  has  first  perceived  them,  as  soon 
as  something  has  become  altered — were  it  only  one  link 
suppressed  in  a  series  of  associated  images — there  may  be 
said  to  have  taken  place  an  artificial  mental  composition, 
a  modified  conception  of  reality,  a  spontaneous  work  of 
productive  imagination.  These  free  combinations  of  im¬ 
ages  arise  spontaneously  in  young  children;  and  is  it  not 
often  the  same  with  adults,  who  are  visited  by  so  many 
unexpected  inspirations?  The  little  Tiedemann,  when  five 
months  old,  “guessed,”  his  father  says,  when  he  was  going 
to  be  taken  out,  and  showed  signs  of  delight.  His  biog¬ 
rapher  sees  no  more  in  this  than  an  association  of  ideas ; 
hut  there  is  more  in  it.  Mixed  up  with  the  act  of  judg¬ 
ment  which  the  word  guess  presupposes,  there  is  a  very 
vivid  conception  of  some  of  the  recollections  attached  to 
the  idea  of  going  out,  which  produces  in  the  child’s  mind 
a  series  of  delightful  pictures.  Now,  supposing  the  child 
to  be  awake,  this  conception  would  probably  remain  for 
some  time  in  exact  correspondence  with  the  reality.  But 
during  sleep  the  capricious  mobility  of  the  ideas  would 
introduce  into  these  images  of  reality  some  circumstances 
and  details  of  a  fantastic  description.  Certain  details 
would  be  added,  others  would  disappear;  time,  places, 
objects,  would  be  transformed  in  a  thousand  unforeseen 
ways.  The  impressions  of  the  reality  would  become,  to  a 
sleeping  child,  a  fictitious  reality. 

Let  us  picture  to  ourselves  the  working  of  infant  intelli¬ 
gence  during  dreams,  inferring,  as  analogy  will  allow  up  to 
a  certain  point,  from  a  child  who  can  speak  to  one  who  is 
still  mute. 

The  infant  has  just  slept  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour;  this 
first  slumber,  consecrated  to  the  repose  of  the  organs,  has 
been  very  profound ;  a  flow  of  blood  to  the  brain,  occa¬ 
sioned  by  some  internal  trouble,  half  wakes  him  up ;  the 
nurse  rocks  him,  and  in  two  or  three  minutes  he  is  again 
asleep.  As  the  first  sleep  has  already  in  some  measure 
repaired  the  losses  of  organic  life,  this  second  sleep  is 
lighter  and  more  favorable  to  dreams.  Vague  sensations, 
transmitted  from  the  periphery  to  the  brain,  excite  a  revi- 


150  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


val  of  ideas,  and  tlie  play  of  associating  and  dissociating 
images  has  already  begun.  A  fly  settling  on  the  child’s 
face,  a  movement  of  its  bed  curtains,  a  sensation  of  con¬ 
tact  caused  by  the  sheets  or  its  nightgown,  a  ray  of  light 
falling  on  its  closed  eyelids,  a  noise  in  the  house  or  in  the 
street,  the  muscular  sensations  caused  by  one  of  the  child’s 
automatic  movements,  an  impression  surging  up  from  the 
depths  of  the  organs  of  vegetative  life — in  short,  the 
slightest  circumstance  foreign  to  the  ordinary  life  of  the 
brain,  will  suffice  to  awaken  its  functional  energy,  and  set 
the  child  off  dreaming.  Instantly  memory  recalls  to  him 
any  of  the  most  striking  incidents  of  the  day — the  green 
bench,  for  instance,  on  which  his  nurse  sat  with  him;  and 
with  this  comes  a  whole  train  of  associated  images.  A 
large  tree  with  waving  branches,  a  beautiful  white  cloud 
on  a  bit  of  blue  sky,  the  smiling  face  of  a  child  who  kissed 
him,  let  him  handle  his  toys,  and  play  with  him,  then  a 
dog,  spotted  with  white  and  brown,  which  came  and  put 
its  paws  on  the  child’s  frock  and  licked  his  face;  then  a 
man  in  a  red  and  blue  uniform,  whose  large  sword  glittered 
and  made  a  great  noise,  then  another  man  like  the  first, 
who  passed  very  near  the  path,  sounding  a  drum;  then  a 
horse  galloping  the  same  way,  then  some  more  men  in  red 
and  blue  with  gleaming  bayonets  on  their  shoulders,  then 
a  heavy  cart  which  bumped  on  the  pavement  with  a  loud 
noise,  and  directly  after  that  an  ugly  woman  with  a  smiling 
face,  offering  cakes  for  sale  out  of  a  basket.  We  are  sup¬ 
posing  that  all  these  salient  events,  which  happened  whilst 
the  child  was  out  of  doors,  have  come  back  to  his  mind  in 
the  order  of  succession  of  the  real  impressions.  But  tire 
reproduction  of  these  recollections — the  illusion  of  sleep 
assisting — has  made  of  them  a  simultaneous  picture.  This 
in  itself  would  be  a  notable  modification,  were  there  no 
other,  for  imagination  to  have  introduced  into  recollections 
of  real  incidents.  To  modify  still  further  this  chain  of 
associations,  it  needs  only  a  fresh  excitation,  coming  either 
from  outside  or  rising  from  within,  which  shall  combine 
in  the  brain  old  recollections  with  new  ones,  separate  what 
was  united  and  unite  what  was  separated,  and  form  dis- 
proportioned  and  incongruous  associations  of  ideas;  and 


IMAGINATION. 


isi 


the  reproductive  imagination  will  have  given  place  to  the 
productive  imagination. 

If  the  series  of  impressions  conceived  in  the  dream  were 
a  faithful  imitation  of  the  real  impressions,  why  should 
there  be  those  violent  contractions  of  the  face,  those  con¬ 
tortions  of  the  limbs,  that  wild  laughter  and  those  piercing 
screams  and  convulsive  tremblings  so  painful  to  witness, 
and  all  those  evident  signs  of  intense  sensations  and  emo¬ 
tions  which  the  realities,  the  recollection  of  which  forms 
the  tissue  of  the  dreams,  did  not  excite  in  the  child?  A  con¬ 
siderable  change  must  therefore  have  been  produced  in  his 
hallucinated  brain,  a  change  affecting  the  proportions  of 
the  images  and  their  mutual  relations. 

For  example,  the  large  horse  will  have  taken  the  place 
of  the  dog;  with  awful  neigliings,  he  advances  liis  gigantic 
nostrils  close  to  the  child’s  face.  The  cake,  a  piece  of 
which  was  snapped  up  by  the  dog,  will  be  seized  by  the 
huge  mouth  of  the  horse,  which  will  then  gallop  off  to  the 
cart  carrying  away  the  nurse  and  the  little  child;  and  so  on 
through  the  whole  chapter,  until  the  horror  reaches  a  cli¬ 
max,  and  the  child  awakes  with  a  loud  scream. 

But  his  half-open  eyes  have  perceived,  transfigured  as  in 
the  dream,  the  gentle  face  of  his  nurse,  who  is  rocking  him 
and  whispering  comforting  words  in  his  ear.  The  charm 
takes  effect,  and  the  child  goes  to  sleep  again,  and  resumes 
the  thread  of  his  dream  interwoven  now  with  joy  and  hap¬ 
piness;  the  green  bench  reappears,  and  the  little  children, 
dressed  in  white  and  blue  and  pink,  with  bright  eyes  and 
rosy  cheeks;  cake  and  toys  are  given  to  him,  and  so  on, 
and  so  on,  at  the  will  of  the  capricious  fairy,  who  is  the 
association  of  ideas.  Such  is  the  rudimentary  working  of 
creative  imagination. 

Dreams  are  the  poems  of  children,  who,  even  when 
awake,  are  always  more  or  less  of  poets.  Ah!  the  strange 
dramas,  the  merry  comedies,  the  sparkling  idylls,  the  dis¬ 
mal  elegies,  the  thrilling  odes  which  have  haunted  in  their 
cradles  the  brains  of  future  poets!  Fictitious  inventions 
which  will  perhaps  return  to  them  later  in  life  without 
being  recognized,  when  they  think  they  are  imagining  quite 
new  and  original  combinations.  For  the  adult,  as  well  as 


152  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


for  the  young  child,  what  we  call  creative  imagination  con¬ 
sists  in  separating,  combining,  cutting  down,  amplifying, 
abridging,  exaggerating,  and  juxtaposing  in  a  thousand 
different  ways,  and  often  in  an  order  the  least  intended, 
former  perceptions,  judgments,  and  reasonings,  in  order  to 
create  out  of  these  materials  an  inner  world  quite  different 
from  the  outer  one,  though  made  after  its  image. 

In  the  waking  state  the  exercise  of  this  faculty  shows 
itself  by  manifestations  of  diverse  kinds. 


in. 


SPECIAL  IMAGINATION. 

Every  sense  has  its  special  imagination ;  but  psycholo¬ 
gists  tell  us  that  the  senses  of  sight  and  hearing  call  up 
more  vivid  and  distinct  images  than  the  other  senses. 
“This  is  because  sight  and  hearing  play  a  more  important 
part  in  our  existence  than  taste  and  smell;  incessantly 
employed  for  the  most  various  needs,  these  senses  are  sel¬ 
dom  left  inactive.  Besides  which,  the  nerves  set  in  vibra¬ 
tion  by  auditory  and  visual  impressions  are  finer,  more 
distinct,  and  more  numerous,  and  their  ramifications  in 
the  cerebral  substance  are  more  systematic.” 1  Moreover, 
it  is  the  images  perceived  by  these  senses  which  dominate 
in  animal  intelligences,  and  in  human  intelligence  in  a 
state  of  rest,  or  of  relative  suspension  of  thought,  such  as 
reverie,  natural  sleep,  and  hypnotism.  In  induced  som¬ 
nambulism,  as  M.  Richet  has  said,  “the  medulla  acts  when 
the  brain  has  become  powerless;”  and  in  addition  to  auto¬ 
matism  of  movements,  one  of  the  most  characteristic 
phenomena  of  this  state  is  the  seeing  of  images.  A  child 
in  its  ordinary  state  is  what  a  somnambulist  is  by  accident; 
in  the  one  and  the  other  the  superior  nerve  centres  are  but 
little  active  and  balanced.  It  is  not  astonishing  that  a 
child’s  imagination  should  respond  to  external  excitations, 
and  cl  fortiori  to  those  of  sight,  which  are  the  most  vivid 
and  numerous.  The  habitual  state  of  little  children  is  that 
of  waking  dreams. 


1 H.  Jolly,  Cours  de  Philosophie,  p.  136. 


SPECIAL  IMAGINATION. 


153 


Mr.  Galton  has  made  some  interesting  researches  on  the 
mental  representation  of  visual  images.  The  result  has 
been  to  prove  the  existence  of  natural  varieties  of  mental 
disposition  in  different  races,  sexes,  and  ages.  It  appears 
to  be  established,  on  the  testimony  of  learned  men  them¬ 
selves,  that  to  the  great  majority  of  them  mental  imagery 
was  unknown,  and  that  they  looked  on  him  as  fanciful  and 
fantastic  in  supposing  that  the  words  “  mental  imagery” 
had  more  than  a  metaphysical  meaning.  On  the  other 
hand,  people  of  the  world,  women  and  children,  on  being 
interrogated  by  Mr.  Galton,  “declared  that  they  habitually 
saw  mental  imagery,  and  that  it  was  distinct  and  full  of 
color.”  It  has  also  been  established,  that  color  is  more 
easily  imaged  than  form,  especially  with  children,  but 
that  the  faculty  of  imaging  color  disappears  sooner  than 
the  other.  These  are  facts  of  the  highest  importance  in 
the  training  of  infant  faculties  and  intelligence,  if  we  allow 
that  imagination  is  always  associated  with  the  other  phe¬ 
nomena  of  psychic  life,  and  that  in  children  it  dominates 
over  these  others  and  carries  them  away  with  it. 

Imagination  can  always  reproduce,  and  sometimes  with 
great  power  and  vividness,  the  perceptions  of  sound.  The 
tone  of  a  human  voice,  the  noise  of  an  animal,  the  crack¬ 
ing  of  a  whip  or  the  rumbling  of  a  carriage,  the  ringing  of 
bells,  the  loud  chords  of  an  orchestra,  haunt  us  still  when 
the  sounds  tiiem selves  are  silent.  We  can  recall  the  airs 
that  we  have  heard  played  or  sung;  when  we  hum  the  scale, 
we  have  every  note  of  it  in  our  ears.  A  musician  com¬ 
poses  in  his  mind,  and  when  he  tunes  his  instrument,  he 
compares  its  sounds  with  those  he  hears  in  imagination. 
We  also  hear  mentally  the  words  which  express  our 
thoughts,  so  that  it  has  become  almost  impossible  to  us  to 
think  without  words,  a  phenomenon  designated  by  philos¬ 
ophers  under  the  name  of  internal  speech.  The  auditive 
imagination,  more  or  less  developed,  according  to  the  in¬ 
fant’s  organization,  plays  a  very  important  part  in  its 
intellectual  evolution,  and  a  very  important  one  also  in  its 
emotional,  moral,  and  aesthetic  evolution.  We  shall  have 
occasion  to  refer  to  this  later. 

All  recollections  imply  mental  images  more  or  less  dis- 


154  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OE  CHILDHOOD. 


tincfc  and  vivid;  and  we  eonld  not  remember  or  recognize  a 
single  taste  or  smell  if  tlie  senses  of  taste  and  smell  had 
not  also  their  special  imaginations.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  we  represent  flavors  and  odors  to  ourselves  in  a  par¬ 
ticular  manner.  If  a  gourmet  can  taste  and  smell  in  im¬ 
agination,  a  gourmand  can  enjoy  his  dinner  in  advance. 
The  recollection  of  sensations  of  smell,  although  generally 
feeble,  may  sometimes  be  vivid  enough  to  make  us  take 
them  for  reality.  People  with  a  very  delicate  sense  of 
smell  can  enjoy  in  anticipation  the  scent  of  a  rose  which 
they  see,  or  that  of  a  bunch  of  violets  which  they  are  about 
to  buy.  We  have  shown  above  that  this  kind  of  imagina¬ 
tion  is  already  intellectually  and  emotionally  active  in  some 
young  children. 

There  is  also  certainly  a  tactile  imagination,  a  muscular 
imagination,  and  a  thermal  imagination.  The  imagination 
of  touch  is  exemplified  in  people  born  blind,  who  can  pict¬ 
ure  to  themselves,  without  the  help  of  sight,  the  objects 
around  them,  who  read  raised  letters  by  means  of  their 
fingers,  who  possess  a  tactile  system  of  geometry,  and  rep¬ 
resent  to  themselves  tangible  figures  as  we  do  visible  ones.1 
These  three  kinds  of  imagination,  which  superficial  observ¬ 
ers  confound  in  one  only — tactile  imagination  —  are 
powerfully  exercised  from  the  first  days  of  life.  We  have 
already  devoted  a  few  observations  to  them  in  the  chapter 
on  emotional  and  sensual  perceptions.  We  will  content 
ourselves  here  with  reminding  parents  and  educators  of 
children  of  their  extreme  susceptibility  to  the  different  im¬ 
pressions  in  question.  A  child  of  three  months  will 
already  distinguish  people  from  the  manner  in  which  they 
touch,  stroke,  hold,  or  carry  him.  At  six  months  he  al¬ 
ready  appreciates  very  imaginatively  the  little  punishments 
that  are  inflicted  on  him,  the  people  in  connection  with 
these  punishments,  and  the  objects  which  are  the  instru¬ 
ments  of  them.  There  are  some  children  whom  the  sight 
of  a  doctor  who  has  attended  them  will  drive  almost  mad. 
If  there  are  some  children  who  are  very  little  sensible, — 
one  might  almost  say  insensible, — to  blows,  it  is  quite  the 


A  Diderot,  Lettres  sur  les  Aveugles. 


SPECIAL  IMAGINATION. 


155 


contrary  with  the  greater  number.  I  can  never  help  laugh¬ 
ing  when  I  see  the  peasant  women  in  my  own  country 
frightening  their  little  pickles  of  two  or  three  years  old,  or 
more,  with  nothing  but  these  words:  “  Qu’ou  te  peli,”  or 
“  Quct  bn  cose  ”  (crude  Gascon  formulae,  not  easy  to  trans¬ 
late).  Whoever  is  inclined  to  doubt  the  powerful  effects 
of  tactile  imagination,  has  only  to  read  the  retrospective 
memoirs  of  a  child,  now  almost  an  old  man,  who  has  not 
forgiven  his  mother  the  “  thrashings  ”  of  old  days.1  It  is 
a  happy  thing,  moreover,  that  tactile  and  muscular  im¬ 
pressions  do  leave  deep  traces  on  the  child’s  imagination. 
If  this  is  the  secret  of  some  of  his  little  troubles  and  sor¬ 
rows,  it  is  also  the  cause  of  his  greatest  pleasures.  We  may 
often  notice  in  little  children  between  fifteen  months  and 
four  years  old  an  inexplicable  kind  of  liyjier-excitement  of 
the  tactilo-muscular  imagination ;  they  feel  a  need  to  cuddle 
up  against  anything  or  anybody,  inanimate  objects,  people, 
animals.  “Let  us  squeeze  each  other,”  said  a  child  of  two 
years  old  to  a  friend  of  its  mother’s,  proceeding  at  the  same 
time  to  hug  her  tightly.  Is  this  play,  or  a  superabund¬ 
ance  of  vitality,  or  unregulated  and  unconscious  impul¬ 
sions  of  affectivity? 

The  influence  of  sentiment  on  imagination  and  of  im¬ 
agination  on  sentiment  are  facts  so  well  known,  and  which 
are  so  frequently  the  cause  of  affectionate  rapprochements 
between  grown-up  people  and  children,  that  they  need  not 
be  dwelt  on  here  in  connection  with  children.  The  affec¬ 
tions,  sentiments,  passions,  desires,  fears,  aversions,  pleas¬ 
ures,  and  loves  of  children  have  a  continual  tendency  to 
embody  themselves  in  people  and  animals  and  inanimate 
objects;  they  appear  before  their  eyes  as  images  in  relief, 
varied,  capricious,  and  incoherent,  nearly  always  false  and 
exaggerated,  often  terrible,  sometimes  enchanting. 

At  the  age  of  a  year,  when  a  child  is  not  yet  a  “  speak¬ 
ing  intelligence,”  and  even  after  he  has  begun  to  speak, 
things  present  themselves  to  his  mind  more  than  the  signs, 
terms,  or  gestures  which  express  them.  Everything  is  re¬ 
produced  in  his  mind  in  pictures ;  he  thinks  in  images,  he 


Jacques  Vingtras,  L'Enfant. 


1 5G  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


measures  the  truth  of  things  by  the  vivacity  of  his  impres¬ 
sions.  Owing  to  their  power  of  scenic  imagination,  which 
brings  before  their  mind’s  eyes  the  salient  features  of  real 
life,  and  awakens  in  their  hearts  the  corresponding  senti¬ 
ments,  little  children  who  can  speak,  and  doubtless  also 
those  who  cannot,  have  frequent  moments  of  retrospection, 
which  affect  in  a  greater  or  less  degree  their  happiness  and 
their  moral  health,  and  consequently,  also  their  physical 
health. 

A  little  girl,  two-and-a-lialf  years  old,  was  heard  relating 
with  all  the  seriousness  of  a  grown  person,  with  touching 
sadness  and  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  the  acts  of  brutality 
which  her  father  sometimes  committed  towards  her  mother. 
“Naughty  papa,”  she  said,  “very  naughty  papa!  He 
always  does  like  that  to  mother;  he  throws  her  down,  and 
then  I  cry.  He  is  very  naughty!  ” 

A  little  boy,  between  three  and  four,  saw  some  fir-cones 
in  a  park.  “  Pretty  fir-cones!  ”  cried  he;  “  there  are  some 
like  that  at  Arcachon,  at  the  sea-side.  I  went  last  year  to 
Arcaclion  with  papa  and  mamma.  I  played  a  great  deal, 
and  was  not  much  scolded.” 

What  has  struck  all  observers  of  little  children  is,  that 
with  their  aptitude  in  recalling,  even  with  emotion,  all  that 
they  have  seen  and  heard,  they  are  unable  to  localize  their 
recollections  in  time  or  space.  These  Kantian  forms  of 
understanding  are  very  incomplete  categories  at  this  epoch 
of  rudimentary  analysis,  abstraction,  and  comparison.  A 
child  of  two  years,  who  passed  nearly  every  day  along  the 
same  street  on  the  way  to  the  Jardin  des  Tuileries ,  was  one 
day  taken  by  his  nurse  to  the  garden  of  the  Luxembourg 
instead.  The  instant  he  caught  sight  of  the  garden  railings 
he  cried  out,  “Chddin  Tin Although  young  children  are 
chiefly  engrossed  with  what  they  are  doing  at  the  present 
moment,  they  have  also  a  vague  idea  of  the  recent  past  as 
such ;  but  this  idea  must  have  some  actuality  for  them,  in 
order  to  interest  them.  They  will  say,  “I  did  that  yester¬ 
day,”  when  it  was  done  in  the  morning.  The  future  which 
is  not  very  near,  or  which  does  not  appear  so  to  them,  has 
no  influence  over  their  imagination.  A  child  of  two  years 
said  to  his  mother,  “As  we  are  going  to  Koyan  to-morrow 


SPECIAL  IMAGINATION. 


157 


to  see  grandmamma,  why  don’t  yon  dress  at  once?”  But 
at  three  years  old,  this  same  child,  who  was  very  happy  in 
a  temporary  residence,  and  who  knew  that  his  parents  were 
going  to  leave  it  in  a  week,  tried  to  put  back  the  day  of 
departure  by  an  illusion  of  his  imagination,  which  was 
concerned  in' seeing  that  day  deferred  as  long  as  possible. 
He  used  to  say  to  his  aunt,  “We  are  going  to  Bordeaux 
in  eight  days,  not  to-morrow,  no,  but  in  a  very  long  while.” 
Let  it  then  be  our  endeavor  to  make  this  present,  which  is 
everything  to  children,  happy  and  joyous;  let  us  by  all 
means  insure  to  them  that  happiness  which  costs  so  little, 
and  which  is  the  first  condition  of  their  moral  progress, 
Happy  children  are  good  children. 

Rousseau  has  written  some  beautiful  passages  on  the 
happiness  which  is  due  to  children,  who  may  perhaps 
never  know  it  later. 

One  of  the  most  terrible  diseases  that  mankind  is  sub¬ 
ject  to  is  insanity,  and  facts  authorize  us  in  thinking  that 
the  youngest  child  is  not  more  proof  against  this  form  of 
disease  than  against  any  other.  All  that  we  can  say  is, 
that  it  is  relatively  less  frequent  in  infancy.  M.  Compayre 
has  collected  from  writers  on  lunacy  a  number  of  observa¬ 
tions  to  which  we  call  the  attention  of  our  readers.  Con¬ 
vulsions  may,  up  to  a  certain  point,  be  considered  as  the 
first  stage  of  insanity  in  children,  whether  arising  from 
constitutional  or  accidental  causes.  They  have  all  the 
external  characteristics,  and  often  all  the  intellectual  and 
moral  consequences  of  mental  disease.  Trousseau  cites  a 
curious  example.  “A  doctor,  called  in  to  attend  a  young 
child  in  convulsions,  advised  that  its  cap  should  be  taken 
off.  He  then  saw  a  piece  of  thread  lying  on  the  child’s 
head;  and  in  trying  to  remove  it  he  dragged  out  a  long 
needle  which  had  been  deeply  buried  in  the  cranium.  The 
instant  the  needle  was  taken  out,  the  convulsions  stopped. 
Convulsions,  however,  more  often  arise  from  constitutional 
causes,  from  cerebral  affections  transmitted  by  heredity. 
They  appear  in  individuals  who  are  endowed  with  special 
nervous  susceptibility,  which  is  transmitted  by  birth  from 
the  forefathers  to  the  children,  and  which  manifests  itself 
now  by  one  phenomenon,  now  by  another — by  convulsions 
in  children,  by  epilepsy  or  hysteria  in  adults.  On  careful 


158  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

investigation,  it  will  perhaps  he  found  that  there  is  not  a 
single  family  where  madness  exists  in  which  convulsions 
have  not  played  a  certain  part.  Even  in  families  which 
are  only  highly  nervous,  and  who  have  yet  had  no  cases 
of  madness  in  their  midst,  the  appearance  of  infantine 
eclampsia  manifesting  itself  successively  in  several  chil¬ 
dren,  should  be  considered  a  very  bad  symptom.”  It  is, 
as  it  were,  the  first  signal  of  the  possible  invasion  of  in¬ 
sanity  in  a  family  hitherto  sane.  1 

Hallucination,  which  is  the  second  degree  of  insanity, 
rarely  shows  itself  in  children  by  unmistakable  signs.  If 
it  does  take  possession  of  a  child  of  three  or  six  months,  it 
may  easily  he  confounded  with  the  disorders  consequent  on 
over-excited  sentiment.  We  can  nevertheless  point  to 
cases  where  the  absorption  of  poisonous  substances  has 
thrown  young  children  into  nervous  states  analogous  to 
the  state  of  hallucination.  Dr.  Thore  is  our  authority  for 
the  following  case :  . 

“A  httle  girl,  fifteen  months  old,  had  swallowed,  in  her 
mother’s  absence,  a  considerable  number  of  grains  of 
Datura  Stramonium.  Almost  instantly  the  child  was 
thrown  into  a  state  of  agitation  which  frightened  her 
mother  very  much.  The  doctor  who  was  called  made  the 
following  depositions: — ‘A  great  change  has  supervened 
in  the  visual  organs;  the  child  seems  to  be  deprived  of 
sight;  she  does  not  look  at  any  of  the  objects  around  her, 
and  pays  no  attention  to  things  which  used  to  please  her 
and  which  she  was  in  the  habit  of  asking  for.  A  watch  is 
shown  to  her,  and  some  of  her  toys;  but  they  do  not 
attract  her  attention,  while,  on  the  contrary,  she  appears 
to  be  reaching  after  imaginary  objects  at  some  distance 
from  her,  and  which  she  tries  to  get  hold  of  by  constantly 
stretching  out  her  arms  and  clutching  with  her  hands. 
She  even  raises  herself  up  by  leaning  on  the  sides  of  her 
cradle,  as  if  to  get  nearer  to  these  objects.  She  tosses  her 
hands  about  in  the  air  as  if  trying  to  catch  objects  that 
are  flying  away.’  ”  2 


1  Compayre  La  Folie  chez  l'  Enfant,  lievue  Phil.,  Dec.  1880,  in  the 
Annates  Medicates. 

2  Quoted  by  M.  Compayre',  loc.  citat. 


SPECIAL  IMAGINATION. 


159 


Here  are  some  more  facts  which,  although  indeed  be¬ 
longing  to  a  rather  more  advanced  period  than  that  treated 
of  in  this  book,  are  none  the  less  interesting  to  students  of 
infant  psychology. 

The  most  habitual  form  of  intellectual  aberration  in 
children  appears  to  be  mania,  that  is  to  say,  incoherence 
and  delirium  of  ideas,  furious  agitation  or  tranquil  wan¬ 
dering  of  the  thoughts.  On  this  point  most  authorities 
are  agreed.  Dr.  Delasiauve,  1  Dr.  Paulmier  (in  his  thesis 
entitled  “Mental  Affections  in  Children,  and  Mania  in  par¬ 
ticular”),  2  and  Dr.  Morel,  3  declare  that  insanity  in  chil¬ 
dren  generally  takes  the  form  of  maniacal  excitation. 

The  following  are  some  remarkable  cases  collected  from 
the  writings  of  mad-doctors.  We  will  quote  first  the  very 
circumstantial  case  given  by  Dr.  Chatelain,  who  has  him¬ 
self  had  occasion  to  study  a  child  of  four  years  and  some 
months,  the  daughter  of  a  farmer  of  the  Jura.  Two 
causes  especially, — the  one  entirely  physical  (viz.,  measles), 
the  other  moral  (a  great  fright  caused  by  the  sight  of  a 
fire-engine),— had  acted  on  the  feeble  constitution  of  this 
child,  and  determined  the  peculiar  state  from  which  she 
was  suffering.  “Louise,”  Dr.  Chatelain  states,  “is  ‘ drdle ,’ 
singular,  and  distraite.  She  answers  at  cross-purposes  to 
the  questions  put  to  her.  One  day  her  father  told  her  to 
bring  him  her  doll ;  she  went  to  fetch  it,  but  brought  back 
nothing,  though  saying  at  the  same  time,  ‘Here  it  is';  the 
hand  and  the  arm  made  the  gesture  of  a  person  giving 
something,  but  the  hand  was  empty.  Since  her  illness  her 
character  has  sensibly  altered;  she  has  entirely  lost  the 
timidity  natural  to  her  age.  In  the  presence  of  two  phy¬ 
sicians  who  were  unknown  to  her,  and  who  examined  her, 
she  showed  no  shyness  and  no  awkwardness.  If  asked  a 
question,  she  answered  vivaciously  and  without  hesitation, 
but  quite  at  random.”  And  then  follows  a  full-length 
description  of  a  conversation  testifying  to  the  complete 


1  See  Annates  Medico-psychologiques ,  1855,  tome  i.,  p.  527.  Forme 
Man  tame  speciale  chez  les  Enfant s. 

2  La  These  de  M.  Le  Paulmier.  185G: 

3  9ee  Anna  IPs  Medico-psycholoijiques,  1870,  tome  ii.,  pp.  260-269, 


1G0  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


disorder  of  ideas  in  a  child  otherwise  very  intelligent,  and 
whose  ailment  cannot  he  confounded  with  idiotcy. 

The  preceding  example  gives  us  a  case  of  calm  and 
tranquil  mania.  The  little  girl  in  question,  however,  was 
also  subject  to  fits  of  furious  mania,  which  took  the  form 
of  a  need  of  perpetual  movement,  of  tears  and  screams, 
and  threats  of  death  to  her  parents.  At  other  times, 
agitation  is  the  permanent  characteristic. 

With  rather  older  children  cases  of  maniacal  madness 
are  still  more  frequent.  Dr.  Morel  cites  the  case  of  a  child 
five  years  old,  who,  in  consequence  of  a  shock  caused  by 
fear,  fell  into  a  state  of  “continual  turbulence  and  maniacal 
exacerbation.”  1  Dr.  Guislain  records,  under  the  name  of 
furious  monopathy,  a  malady  of  the  same  kind  in  a  little 
girl  of  seven  years.  Here  the  cause  of  the  evil  was  a  blow 
on  the  head.  2  And  as  moral  causes  always  alternate  with 
physical  ones  in  the  generation  of  insanity,  we  find  in 
Foville  a  case  of  a  hoy  ten  years  old  who  lost  his  reason 
through  reading  too  much. 

“It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  that  with  all  these  numerous 
examples  of  infant  mania,  the  list  of  which  we  might  pro¬ 
long,  not  a  single  case  of  monomania  can  be  recorded. 
Fixity  of  ideas  is  quite  as  impossible  in  children  in  a  state 
of  mania,  as  in  their  normal  and  rational  state.  The  little 
mad  girl  described  by  Dr.  Chatelain  was  continually 
undergoing  a  change  of  ideas.  ‘Generally  speaking,  some 
one  idea  would  occupy  her  exclusively  for  a  day  or  two,  and 
would  then  give  way  to  another.’  Monomania  appears  at 
first  sight  to  be  a  sign  of  great  intellectual  weakness,  since 
all  the  ideas  and  sentiments  are,  as  it  were,  annihilated 
before  one  single  thought,  which  has  become  sole  master 
of  the  consciousness.  And  yet,  if  we  think  about  it,  mono¬ 
mania  presupposes  a  certain  force  of  intelligence  and 
power  of  concentration,  since  it  is  a  thoroughly  systematic 
delirium.  Children,  with  their  mobile,  incoherent  ideas, 
their  fluctuating,  volatile  impressions,  may  easily  become 
delirious — i.e.,  puss  from  one  idea  to  another  without  com 


1  Morel,  op.  cit.,p.  102. 

2  Dictiunnaire  de  Medecinc,  1829, 


SPECIAL  IMAGINATION. 


161 


nection  or  reason ;  but  we  can  understand  their  not  hav¬ 
ing  sufficient  strength  to  group  all  their  faculties  round 
one  single  mad  conception  in  a  permanent  manner.  This, 
then,  no  doubt,  is  the  reason  why  intellectual  disorder 
manifests  itself  in  children  by  a  rapid  and  incoherent  suc¬ 
cession  of  ideas,  incessantly  and  distractedly  chasing  one 
another,  rather  than  by  the  obstinate  concentration  of  all 
the  forces  of  the  mind  in  one  direction.”  1 

One  of  the  most  curious  forms  of  imagination  is  autom¬ 
atism.  It  is  one  of  the  most  important  phenomena  of 
somnambulism,  and  one  which  will  help  us  to  realize  what 
goes  on  in  a  child’s  imagination.  “If  we  ask  a  sleeping 
person  to  say  what  he  is  thinking  about,  he  will  always 
answer  that  he  is  not  thinking  of  anything,  and  that  he 
has  no  ideas  whatever.  We  must  take  this  answer  aupied 
de  la  lettre.  A  somnambulist  does  not  think  at  all.  His 
intelligence  is  a  blank — absolute  vacuity.  This  psychic 
inertia  shows  itself  by  the  complete  inertia  of  the  face  and 
of  the  voluntary  movements.  But  if,  in  the  middle  of  this 
utter  blankness,  an  image  or  an  idea  is  suddenly  presented, 
this  idea  will  at  once  take  possession  of  the  entire  imagina¬ 
tion.”  2 

Thus  in  children,  their  relative  psychic  inertia  explains 
the  vivacity  of  their  impressions,  their  strong  objectivity, 
their  temporary  possession  by  some  idea ;  they  are,  as  it 
were,  at  the  mercy  of  momentary  impressions,  and  espe¬ 
cially  of  those  of  the  greatest  intensity.  All  that  they  see 
they  believe  to  be  exactly  as  they  see  it.  All  that  is  told 
to  them,  rises  in  vivid  images  before  them.  All  the  ideas 
that  are  suggested  to  them  appear  to  them  in  a  visible  form, 
and  they  instantly  proceed  to  execute  or  imitate  them.  All 
this  explains  the  powerful  influence  of  example  on  these 
pliable  little  spirits,  and  also  the  contagious  effect  on  them 
of  sentiments  expressed  by  words  and  gestures.  As  the 
person  magnetized  is  subject  to  the  magnetizer,  so,  in  a 
lesser  degree  and  without  complete  continuity,  children  are 


1  These  remarks  are  in  accordance  with  those  which  I  have  made  in  the 
chapter  on  Memory. 

*  Cli.  Richt,  Revue  Philosoph.,  Oct.,  1880.  p.  301, 


1G2  THE  FIEST  THEEE  YEAES  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


subject,  physically,  intellectually,  and  morally,  to  the  sug¬ 
gestions  and  influence  of  the  people  about  them.  They 
are  veritable  automatons,  obeying  consciously  or  uncon¬ 
sciously,  with  more  or  less  entire  docility,  the  tyrannical 
influence  of  any  image  that  suggests  itself  or  is  presented 
to  their  minds.  The  following  extract  describes  a  hypno¬ 
tized  subject,  whom  the  automatism  of  which  we  have 
spoken  reduces  in  some  respects  to  the  level  of  a  child. 

“I  say  to  V.,  ‘  Stroke  that  dog.’  Immediately  she  goes 
up  to  the  dog  and  strokes  him.  If  the  dog  tries  to  escape 
from  her  caresses,  V.  runs  after  him;  if  he  goes  out  of  the 
room,  she  attempts  to  follow  him.  If  you  put  an  arm¬ 
chair  or  a  bench  in  front  of  her,  to  stop  her  from  passing, 
she  either  knocks  it  over,  or,  if  she  cannot  do  this,  she  gets 
irritated  with  it,  and  pushes  it  angrily  away.  But  at  a 
sign  from  me,  she  will  stand  still,  trembling  with  rage  and 
indignation.  I  give  her  some  object  or  other,  a  pencil  for 
instance,  forbidding  her  to  give  it  up  to  any  one.  If  one 
of  the  assistants  tries  to  take  it  away,  she  will  make  a 
desperate  resistance,  running  across  the  room,  fighting, 
bitiug,  and  kicking,  in  a  state  of  indignation  which  one 
could  hardly  form  an  idea  of  if  one  had  not  witnessed  such 
scenes.  Professional  magnetizers  take  pleasure  in  exhibit¬ 
ing  such  scenes  in  public,  and  sceptics  decide  that  they  are 
impostors.  This  they  might  certainly  be,  for  there  is  not 
one  of  the  phenomena  which  cannot  be  counterfeited. 
These  performances,  however,  are  not  necessarily  trickery, 
and  nothing  is  more  real  than  the  complete  subordination 
of  all  the  intellectual  forces  to  a  word  of  command.  It 
seems  as  if  the  sleeping  or  mesmerized  subject  had  no 
other  concern  than  to  conform  to  the  intimations  received. 
One  idea  has  taken  possession  of  the  intelligence  and  has 
become  sovereign  master.  All  beside  is  as  nothing.  All 
is  darkness  by  the  side  of  this  one  vivid  idea,  and  every¬ 
thing  which  hinders  its  execution  is  repulsed  with  anger.  ”  1 


1  Ch.  Cachet,  Revue  Philo sophique,  Oct.,  1880,  p.  305. 


CHAPTEE  X. 


ON  THE  ELABOKATION  OF  IDEAS. 

I. 

JUDGMENT. 

“If  intelligence  cannot  exercise  itself  without  distinguish¬ 
ing  and  comparing,  neither  can  it  do  so  without  affirming, 
either  explicitly  or  implicitly,  verbally  or  otherwise.  In 
other  words,  every  intellectual  operation  presupposes  a 
judgment;  for  judgment,  according  to  the  definition  of 
Aristotle,  is  an  operation  which  consists  in  affirming  some¬ 
thing  about  something.  We  cannot  declare  anything  with¬ 
out  believing  it;  and  to  believe,  to  affirm,  to  judge,  are  all 
one.  What  is  it  to  perceive  an  object?  It  is  to  cognize 
its  shape,  position,  distance,  dimensions,  etc.,  etc.  To 
know,  for  example,  the  distance  at  which  an  object  stands 
from  us,  is  this  not  to  bring  to  bear  on  this  object,  men¬ 
tally  at  any  rate,  a  certain  affirmation?  Can  we  form  a 
general  idea,  without  affirming  that  this  idea  extends  to 
such  and  such  individuals,  and  comprehends  such  and  such 
qualities?  We  see,  indeed,  that  imagination  makes  us 
conceive  fictions  or  chimeras;  but  even  then  we  affirm 
either  the  possibility  of  the  things  which  we  conceive,  or 
the  desire  that  we  have  to  see  them  realized.  In  short,  we 
affirm  the  subjective  fact  of  these  dreams,  even  when  we 
do  not  think  that  they  correspond  to  anything  external. 
Thus,  in  a  word,  we  can  neither  perceive,  nor  compare, 
nor  abstract,  nor  generalize,  nor  remember  nor  imagine, 
without  making  an  affirmation  or  a  judgment.”1 


I  Joly,  Cours  de  Philo  Sophie,  p.  94. 

163 


164  THE  FIRST  JTHREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


The  above  is  a  psychologist’s  definition  of  judgment. 
A  physiologist  will  perhaps  explain,  up  to  a  certain  point, 
its  origin  and  working.  Judgment,  according  to  M.  Luys, 
is  only  the  reaction,  the  repercussion,  the  affirmation  of 
our  personality  “in  the  presence  of  an  excitation  from  the 
external  world,  either  moral  or  physical.  The  action  of 
judging,  so  far  as  it  is  a  physiological  process  accom¬ 
plished  by  means  of  the  cerebral  activities  in  movement, 
is  decomposable  into  three  phases,  which  areas  follows:  — 

“1.  A  phase  of  incidence,  during  which  the  external 
excitation  impresses  the  sensorium  and  rouses  the  conscious 
personality  to  action. 

“2.  An  intermediate  phase,  during  which  the  person¬ 
ality,  seized  upon  and  impressed,  develops  its  latent  capa¬ 
cities  and  reacts  in  a  specific  manner. 

“3.  A  final  phase  of  reflection,  during  which  the  pro¬ 
cess,  continuing  its  progress  through  the  cerebral  tissue,  is 
projected  outwards  in  phonetic  or  written  co-ordinative 
manifestations.  The  impressed  human  personality,  in 
fact,  expresses  itself,  exhales  itself  in  its  entirety,  in  either 
articulate  or  written  language.  ” 1 

This  interpretation  accounts  both  for  the  diversity  of 
human  judgments  and  their  greater  or  less  rapidity  in 
operating,  and  also  for  the  necessity  of  these  judgments 
which  are  common  to  the  species — principles  of  common 
sense,  which  correspond  to  whatever  there  is  in  common 
in  all  cerebral  organizations. 

If  to  judge  is  to  believe  something  about  something,  it 
is  evident  that  little  children,  like  young  animals,  are  con¬ 
scious  of  their  sensations,  that  they  localize  them  else¬ 
where  than  in  some  part  of  their  own  persons,  that  they 
appreciate  and  differentiate  them,  that  they  know  them¬ 
selves  without  having  seen  themselves,  and  know  their 
mothers— in  a  word,  that  they  judge,  i.  e.,they  believe  some¬ 
thing  about  something. 

We  have  only  to  spend  a  few  hours  with  an  infant  of 
two  or  three  months,  to  convince  ourselves  that  it  is  capa- 


1  Luys,  Le  (Jervcau  et  ses  Fonctions,  See  Eng.  Trans.  (Internat.  Scient- 
Series,)  p.  289. 


JUDGMENT. 


165 


ble  of  forming  judgments.  The  little  Tiedemann  who,  on 
seeing  his  nurse  take  up  her  cloak,  guessed  that  she  was 
going  to  take  him  out,  and  instantly  showed  signs  of  de¬ 
light,  went  through  several  acts  of  judgment  or  belief. 
He  believed  that  the  person  who  approached  the  chest  of 
drawers,  raised  her  arms  and  took  out  her  mantle,  was 
his  nurse;  he  believed  that  she  made  all  the  movements 
'just  stated;  he  still  further  believed,  by  virtue  of  familiar 
association,  that  these  acts  would  be  followed  by  others 
equally  well  known — the  going  out  of  the  house,  the  ride 
in  his  perambulator  between  long  lines  of  houses,  amidst 
the  noise  of  the  carriages,  horses,  and  dogs,  the  sitting 
under  the  trees,  etc.  .  .  .  All  the  things  which  he 

believes  to  be  and  which  he  sees,  all  the  other  incidents 
which  he  believes  will  happen  because  he  has  generally  seen 
them  follow  the  first,  are  modes,  manners  of  being,  forms 
of  persons  and  things  which  he  remembers,  and  imagines 
either  as  co-existent  or  as  following  each  other;  they  are 
so  many  sympathetic  judgments  d  posteriori ,  as  Kant  might 
have  said. 

When  little  Marie,  at  three  months  and  a  half  old,  dis¬ 
tinguishes  the  various  parts  of  her  body,  plays  with  her 
mother  and  strokes  her  face,  chatters  to  the  flowers, 
stretches  out  her  eager  little  hands  towards  them,  utters 
admiring  exclamations  at  the  sight  of  their  brilliant  colors; 
turns  round  towards  the  bird  cage  if  her  mother  says, 
“Listen  to  Coco!”  understanding  the  gestures,  the  tone  of 
voice,  the  faces  of  those  who  speak  to  her;  laughs  when 
she  is  praised  and  cries  when  she  is  scolded;  turns  away 
her  face  dejectedly  so  as  not  to  see  another  child  on  her 
mother’s  lap,  etc.,  etc.;  is  there  any  need  to  demonstrate 
that  all  these  facts  imply  judgments  of  a  very  character¬ 
istic  nature? 

Thus,  in  the  case  both  of  little  children  and  young  ani¬ 
mals,  the  only  debatable  point  is  the  degree  in  which  they 
possess  this  faculty  of  judging.  They  do  not  form  abstract 
judgments  as  grown-up  people  do,  but  they  go  through  the 
same  mental  operations  as  adults  at  the  sight  of  anything 
— a  person,  an  animal,  fruit,  toys,  a  piece  of  furniture, 
etc.  They  recognize  these  objects  as  having  been  seen 


166  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


before,  they  discern  in  them  such  and  such  qualities,  they 
distinguish  them  from  the  surrounding  objects,  they  dis¬ 
cover  in  them  either  a  resemblance  or  a  difference,  they 
range  them  in  such  or  such  a  group ;  and  all  these  opera¬ 
tions  presuppose  a  judgment,  or  are  in  fact  themselves  the 
judgment. 

If  all  intellectual  operations,  even  the  most  simple, 
imply  in  a  certain  measure  the  operation  of  judging,  it  is 
the  association  of  ideas,  added  to  the  mental  grasp  of  the 
individual,  which  has  most  influence  on  the  formation  and 
nature  of  the  judgments.  “Two minds,  constituted  exactly 
alike  and  placed  in  exactly  the  same  surroundings,  would 
develop  in  the  same  manner  and  would  produce  the  same 
thoughts.  ...  In  the  generation  of  am  idea  there  are 
Wo  sorts  of  causes;  the  state  of  the  organism,  as  depend¬ 
ent  upon  anterior  impressions,  and  this  same  state  as 
affected  by  physical  conditions.” 

Now  these  two  kinds  of  states  vary  in  different  indi¬ 
viduals.  The  regions  of  the  brain  where  ideas  are  elab¬ 
orated,  are  not  equally  abundant  in  nervous  elements;  and 
these  elements  are  not  endowed  with  such  strong  vitality, 
are  not  so  impressionable,  and  do  not  combine  so  well  in 
one  individual  as  in  another.  Hence  all  the  different  de¬ 
grees  of  brain  power  and  aptitudes  which  show  themselves 
in  differences  of  judgment. 

Three  little  children,  from  eight  to  nine  months,  are 
seated  at  play  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  I  speak  very 
loud  to  attract  the  attention  of  all  three,  and  at  the  same 
time  I  place  at  a  distance  of  a  yard  from  where  they  are 
sitting  a  little  white  horse  on  wheels.  One  of  them,  A, 
instantly  utters  a  cry  of  admiration;  B  opens  his  mouth 
and  fixes  his  eyes  on  the  toy;  0  looks  at  it  with  indiffer¬ 
ence.  Five  seconds  have  now  passed;  A  throws  up  his 
arms  and  stretches  his  head  forward;  B  also  stretches  out 
his  arms,  but  more  tranquilly,  and  as  if  in  imitation  of  A; 
C  looks  on  at  the  agitation  of  the  other  two,  and  then  in 
his  turn  utters  a  sort  of  warbling  cry.  Four  more  seconds 
have  passed.  A  can  contain  himself  no  longer;  he  pre¬ 
cipitates  himself  forward,  rolls  over  on  his  side,  knocks 
his  head  against  the  floor,  and  begins  to  cry.  I  help  him 


JUDGMENT. 


167 


up  again,  whereupon  he  instantly  recommences  the  same 
gestures  and  movements,  and  tries  to  crawl  on  all  fours 
towards  the  horse;  B  up  to  this  moment  has  never  taken 
his  eyes  off  the  toy,  but  he  now  looks  at  me,  makes  be¬ 
seeching  gestures,  and  is  on  the  point  of  crying.  As  for 
C,  he  looks  at  A  going  on  all  fours,  and  seems  more 
engrossed  with  this  than  with  the  horse.  This  example 
suffices  to  show  how  the  aptitude  for  judging  differs — both 
as  to  rapidity  and  quality  of  judgment — according  to  the 
difference  of  impressionability  and  personal  reaction.  The 
older  a  child  grows,  the  easier  it  is  to  observe  these  differ¬ 
ences;  but  when  he  arrives  at  the  initial  period  of  speech, 
the  most  superficial  observer  cannot  fail  to  notice  them. 

Whatever  difference  the  varieties  of  organization  and  the 
accidents  of  intellectual  life  produce  in  the  judgments 
formed  by  various  minds,  there  are  nevertheless  analogies 
common  to  the  species,  and  also  general  similarities  and 
universal  judgments,  which  constitute  what  is  called  com¬ 
mon  sense,  or  reason.  There  is  no  human  intelligence 
deficient  in  the  ideas,  more  or  less  distinct,  which  certain 
philosophers  still  call  innate  or  primary,  and  which  would 
be  better  designated  by  the  name  of  essential.  These 
categories  of  Aristotle,  subjective  forms  of  thought,  ideas 
of  quality,  being,  number,  time,  space,  etc.,  etc.,  corre¬ 
spond  to  the  structure  of  the  brain,  the  constitution  of  the 
human  mind,  and  the  immutable  properties  of  nature. 
Every  human  being,  in  presence  of  external  phenomena, 
cannot  fail  to  acquire  them  at  an  early  age.  We  are  all 
born  with  intelligences  capable  of  deducing  them  with 
more  or  less  rapidity  and  energy  from  our  first  impressions. 
And  thus  the  theory  of  innate  ideas  can  very  well  be  recon¬ 
ciled  with  that  of  the  tabula  rasa.  There  is  a  reason  in 
things  which  corresponds  to  human  reason,  the  latter  be¬ 
ing  only  the  product  or  image  of  the  former.  Reason  as 
a  faculty  for  the  production  of  pure  ideas,  does  not  exist. 

We  have  seen  that  children  of  three  months  go  through 
a  process  of  judging  similar  in  many  respects  to  that  of 
grown-up  people.  We  must  now  show  by  what  stages 
they  arrive  at  developing  this  faculty,  which  begins  by 
being  a  simple  affirmation  of  existence,  passes  from  the 


108  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


concrete  to  what  is  called  the  abstract,  becomes  compara¬ 
tive  judgment,  and  extends  to  the  conception  of  similari¬ 
ties  more  or  less  numerous. 

The  first  form  of  judgment  is  the  apprehension  pure  and 
simple  of  a  concrete  object  with  one  or  several  of  its  quali¬ 
ties.  This  object  may  be  the  child’s  own  person,  or  the 
persons  surrounding  it.  We  cannot  say  by  which  of  these 
two  kinds  of  apprehension  the  child  begins.  It  is  prob¬ 
able,  that  at  first  he  exercises  both  at  once.  The  first 
judgments  are  nothing  else  than  the  immediate  application 
of  the  child’s  mind  to  his  own  being  and  to  other  objects; 
that  is,  to  the  sensations  which  he  feels  himself,  and  feels 
or  infers  of  other  things.  But  just  as  the  first  judgments 
are  without  distinction  of  subjective  or  objective,  so  they 
are  also  without  distinction  of  subject  and  attribute.  For 
children,  as  well  as  for  inferior  animals,  these  terms  remain 
for  some  time  fused  together.  An  oyster  has  some  feeling 
of  itself,  and  some  feeling  of  external  objects;  it  does  not 
affirm  its  existence,  but  it  feels  it  and  believes  in  it 
strongly.  It  also  believes  firmly  in  the  existence,  i.  e.,  the 
reality,  of  external  objects.  These  are  judgments  of 
existence,  modality,  and  externality  implicitly  formed.  In 
like  manner  with  the  foetus,  its  own  existence  and  that  of 
other  foreign  bodies  affirm  themselves  to  it  from  the  time 
of  the  first  conscious  sensations;  they  are  implicit  and 
confused,  but,  at  the  same  time,  real  judgments.  In  the 
period  which  follows  birth,  a  child’s  judgments  begin  to  be 
a  little  more  pronounced,  without  nevertheless  going  for  a 
long  time  beyond  the  sphere  of  individual  concretions. 
This  phase  may  last  till  the  end  of  the  second  month,  but 
with  a  more  or  less  marked  tendency  to  pass  from  the 
concrete  to  the  abstract,  from  the  individual  to  the  gen¬ 
eral.  Noteworthy  progress  has  been  made  in  the  faculty  of 
judging  when  a  child  begins  to  recognize  images,  and  still 
greater  progress  when  he  expects  certain  facts  or  sensa¬ 
tions  to  follow  certain  appearances.  This  is  what  takes 
place  in  ail  the  examples  cited  at  the  beginning  of  this 
chapter.  Primitive  judgment,  in  its  first  phase,  is  a  dis¬ 
cernment  of  perceptions ;  the  second  phase  is  an  associa¬ 
tion  of  images,  a  suggestion  accompanied  by  belief. 


JUDGMENT. 


1G9 


Judgment,  properly  so  called,  is  already  found  in  due 
proportion  in  children  three  months  old.  When  a  child 
of  this  age  mentally  applies  an  idea  of  quality  to  such  and 
such  form  and  color  of  any  object, — for  example,  when  he 
distinguishes  one  kind  of  food  from  another,  one  animal 
from  another, — there  is  already  established  in  his  mind  a 
tendency  to  recognize  likenesses  and  distinguish  differ¬ 
ences.  This  is  a  mode  of  judgment,  very  poor  as  far  as 
comparisons  are  concerned,  and  absolutely  void  of  gener¬ 
alities,  but  which  none  the  less  resembles  the  ordinary 
judgments  of  an  adult.  A  child  of  ten  months  begins  to 
have  this  judgment  of  existence,  which  I  will  not  call 
abstract  in  the  philosophical  sense,  but  which  is  separate 
and  distinct  while  remaining  concrete.  In  fact,  whatever 
may  have  been  said  on  the  subject,  judgments  regarding 
existence  form  no  exception  to  the  general  rule.  They 
also  have  for  their  origin,  condition,  and  occasion,  those 
collocations  of  images  and  representations  which  produce 
in  our  minds  ideas  accompanied  by  evidence,  belief  and 
recognition. 

The  presence  and  the  absence  of  a  person  or  a  thing  are 
already  very  distinct  facts,  even  for  a  child  who  cannot 
yet  speak;  for  him,  to  exist,  is  to  be  there;  not  to  exist,  i3 
to  have  disappeared.  Hence  he  understands  thoroughly 
what  is  meant  by  the  words  a-pu  (il  n'y  en  a  plus),  which 
he  soon  learns  to  repeat  himself,  as  well  as  peudu  (perdu). 
The  judgment  of  existence  is  confused  at  first  with  that  of 
presence  or  absence,  and  relates  always  to  something  con¬ 
crete.  Children  are  capable  of  this. 

It  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose,  that  in  order  to  deal 
with  the  evidence  which  supports  even  tacit  affirmation, 
judgment  needs  the  assistance  of  very  wide  generalizations. 
A  very  distinct  image,  which  the  child  connects  with  the 
representation  of  an  object,  has  for  him  the  same  force  of 
reality  that  it  would  have  for  an  adult — it  is  to  him  reality 
itself.  It  is  not  necessary  that  the  conception  of  always, 
nor  the  whole  number  of  known  similarities,  should  be 
added  to  this  evidence;  a  few  well-grounded  experiences,  a 
few  similarities,  or  even  one  very  distinct  one,  will  suffice 
•to  constitute  judgment  in  its  fullest  import.  Thus  we  see 


170  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


that  minds  which  are  limited  in  their  ideas,  which  contain 
few  images  and  few  associations,  are  the  most  thorough 
and  often  the  most  ardent  in  their  affirmations. 

If  we  look  carefully  into  the  matter,  we  find  that  gener¬ 
ality  of  thought  carries  with  it,  if  not  a  certain  vagueness, 
at  any  rate  an  amount  of  indecision,  which  may  have  the 
appearance  of  breadth  of  judgment,  which  is  often  the 
precursor  of  it,  but  which  is  a  necessary  stage  before  it 
becomes  an  intellectual  merit.  The  more  the  power  of 
generalizing  is  extended,  and  the  more  numerous  are 
the  known  examples  of  similarities,  the  more  they  suggest 
ideas  of  real  differences,  and  consequently  of  possible 
affirmations.  Thus  the  savant,  or  the  man  of  experience, 
will  hesitate  and  suspend  his  judgments  and  actions,  where 
ignorant  and  inexperienced  people,  adult  animals,  and 
children,  will  judge  and  act  precipitately. 

It  is  because  we  are  ignorant  of  the  natural  course  of 
development  of  a  young  child’s  mind,  that  we  imagine  his 
logic  to  be  at  fault  when  it  is  in  opposition  to  that  which 
we  practice,  and  the  principles  of  which  we  inculcate  on 
him  ready-made  in  our  language.  As  our  judgments  relate 
to  comparatively  general  conceptions,  at  any  rate  more 
extended  and  more  numerous  and  quite  different  from 
those  of  a  child,  the  words  which  he  uses  have  not  the 
same  arbitrary  signification  which  we  attribute  to  them. 
To  him  they  represent  facts,  whereas  we  make  them  sig¬ 
nify  collections  of  similarities,  general  affinities,  etc.,  etc. 
He  applies  one  of  his  general  ideas,  that  is  to  say,  a  partic¬ 
ular  and  empiric  term,  to  a  given  sensation,  but  as  our 
interpretation  of  his  judgment  is  not  a  relation  between 
two  facts,  but  a  relation  between  an  idea  and  a  fact,  we 
find  the  statement  false.  It  is  truth  to  him,  but  error  to 
us.  Those  who  observe  and  bring  up  young  children 
ought  to  be  convinced  that  the  progress  of  thought  at  the 
earliest  age  is  in  relation  to  that  of  the  faculty  of  analysis 
bearing  on  objects,  rather. than  to  the  progress  of  speech. 
Too  often,  it  is  true,  we  exaggerate  this  fact,  and  imagine, 
like  Condillac,  that  infants  are  capable  of  observing  “down 
to  little  details  even,”  not  external  objects  only,  but  even 
the  operations  of  the  mind. 


JUDGMENT. 


171 


According  to  this  old  theory,  but  lately  still  in  repute, 
children,  while  learning  to  express  their  judgments  in 
words,  also  learn  to  analyze  them  bit  by  bit;  the  art  of 
thinking  is,  so  to  say,  the  art  of  speaking.  Yes;  if  children 
spoke  their  own  language,  aud  not  ours.  Condillac,  how¬ 
ever,  by  a  slight  contradiction  of  himself,  admits  that 
children  judge  and  reason  before  they  have  learnt  to 
speak.  In  truth,  if  abandoned  “to  the  sole  impulses  of 
nature,”  children  fall  into  frequent  and  serious  errors. 
Animals,  which  some  people  look  upon  as  a  raw  product 
of  nature,  often  make  the  greatest  mistakes,  even  in  things 
which  concern  their  own  interests.  The  fallibility  of  in¬ 
stinct  is  a  fact  ascertained  by  science.  But  in  the  case  cf 
children,  in  addition  to  the  errors  which  proceed  from  the 
spontaneous  use  of  their  own  faculties,  there  are  a  great 
number  which  we  must  attribute  to  the  mistaken  meaning 
which  they  attach  to  our  language,  and  to  our  no  less  mis¬ 
taken  interpretation  of  theirs. 

The  first  business  of  developing  infant  facilities  is  earned 
on  in  great  measure  by  nature  alone ;  and  her  method  is 
by  exciting  cravings  and  desires ;  which  are  the  condition 
of  useful  exercise  of  the  faculties.  A  child  learns  chiefly 
because  he  finds  pleasure  and  use  in  it;  he  acquires  dis¬ 
tinct  ideas  through  the  need  he  feels  of  disentangling  his 
thoughts.  He  acquires  them  for  himself,  by  the  simple 
method  in  which  he  uses  his  senses.  But  do  not  his  mis¬ 
takes  arise  from  the  urgency  of  his  desires  and  needs, 
which  lead  him  to  form  hasty  judgments?  This  may  hap¬ 
pen,  and  indeed  does  happen  often.  He  has  then  used  his 
senses  badly;  but  the  error  may  be  only  momentary. 
“Deceived  in  his  expectation,  he  finds  that  it  is  necessary 
to  make  a  second  judgment,  and  this  time  he  judges 
better;  experience,  which  watches  over  him,  corrects  his 
mistakes.  Does  he  think  he  sees  his  nurse,  because  in  the 
distance  he  sees  some  oue  who  resembles  her?  His  error 
does  not  last  long.  If  a  first  look  has  deceived  him,  a 
second  undeceives  him,  and  he  again  uses  his  eyes  to  seek 
for  her.”  In  my  opinion  Condillac  greatly  exaggerates  the 
judicial  power  of  children, — especially  of  quite  young  ones, 
— and  their  power  of  reflection  and  of  reaction  from  their 


172  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


first  decisions.  This  correction  of  the  errors  of  sense  by 
fresh  observations  is  performed  by  children  unconsciously; 
they  judge  and  ww judge  quite  mechanically. 

What  also  appears  to  me  extreme  in  this  theory  (adopted 
in  part  by  Rousseau  and  reproduced  with  eclat  by  H. 
Spencer) ,  is  to  suppose  that  young  infants  perceive  clearly 
“that  pain  follows  a  false  judgment,  just  as  pleasure  follows 
a  true  one.”  It  is  true  that  by  the  time  children  are  five 
or  six  months  old  (but  not  at  the  beginning  of  their  exist¬ 
ence)  they  will  already  have  acquired,  though  in  a  very 
limited  degree,  the  power  of  understanding  and  utilizing 
some  of  the  lessons  of  experience.  This  is  quite  true. 
But  that  pleasure  and  pain,  “their  first  tutors,”  give  them 
infallible  lessons,  “because  they  teach  them  whether  they 
are  judging  rightly  or  wrongly,”  is  an  untenable  theory. 
Pain  and  pleasure  are  indeed  teachers  of  most  incontesta¬ 
ble  authority,  but  themselves  also  requiring  to  be  trained. 
It  would  be  equally  hazardous  to  hold  absolutely  by  the 
conclusion  which  springs  naturally  from  these  premises, 
that  during  infancy  we  make  rapid  and  astonishing  prog¬ 
ress  because  we  make  it  under  the  direction  of  these  mar¬ 
velous  teachers  of  wisdom.  The  inherent  susceptibility 
and  retentiveness  of  the  organs  in  infancy,  when  they  are 
so  elastic  and  almost  free  from  impressions,  the  very 
nature  too  of  the  impressions  at  this  period,  relating  as 
they  do  chiefly  to  the  most  essential  needs  and  being 
comparatively  few  in  number  and  easy  to  discern,  in 
short,  the  preponderance  of  the  power  of  absorptiou  over 
the  power  of  digestion  and  combination,  count  for  some¬ 
thing  with  the  teachings  of  nature  in  this  rapid  but  super¬ 
ficial  progress.  It  must  also  be  remembered  that  a  child 
scarcely  a  year  old,  whose  faculties  and  claims  have  in¬ 
creased,  finds  himself  in  presence  of  a  vaster  and  more 
difficult  work,  and  it  is  thus  natural  that  his  progress 
should  appear  proportionately  small.  Besides  all  these 
causes  of  error, — which  are  natural  because  they  result 
from  the  nature  of  things  and  from  that  of  the  mind, — 
and  those  special  causes  of  false  judgments  which  result 
from  particular  organic  predispositions  or  psychic  consti¬ 
tution,  another  important  and  constant  one  is  the  neces- 


JUDGMENT. 


173 


sary  imitation  of  our  language  and  intellectual  pro¬ 
cesses. 

Nature  always  gives  serious  warnings  with  a  view  to 
rectifying  the  numerous  errors  committed  in  spite  of  her, 
or  even  with  her  aid.  But  these  warnings  are  specially 
intended  for  adults,  and  intelligent  mothers  understand 
how  to  introduce  them  into  their  training.  I  knew  one 
mother  who,  in  order  to  prevent  her  child  from  going  near 
the  fire,  allowed  him  to  burn  himself  slightly  with  a  hot 
iron  which  she  held  out  for  him  to  touch.  The  child  thus 
made  this  dangerous  experiment  for  himself,  but  at  the 
same  time  safely  under  his  mother’s  eye.  He  cried;  and 
his  mother  comforted  him  and  said  to  him  several  times, 
while  showing  him  the  iron:  “It  is  hot,  it  will  burn 
Edmund.”  This  experiment,  repeated  with  variations  and 
always  in  the  same  safe  manner,  taught  him  very  quickly, 
and  by  the  time  he  was  twelve  months  old,  to  be  afraid  of 
the  fire  and  of  any  objects  that  were  taken  off  it  or  out  of 
it.  From  hearing  these  two  words,  hot  and  burn ,  and  see¬ 
ing  the  simple  action  of  blowing,  which  is  both  a  visual 
and  an  auditory  sign,  applied  to  a  few  well-defined  objects, 
he  had  learnt  the  meaning  of  them.  He  even  acquired 
the  habit  of  making  a  gesture  of  repulsion  and  imitating 
with  his  lips  the  noise  of  blowing  when  he  saw  anything 
near  him  which  smoked  or  seemed  hot.  Thus  by  experi¬ 
ment  of  this  sort,  and  by  the  simple  play  of  association  of 
ideas,  we  may  lead  children  to  form  right  judgments 
about  a  great  many  things,  and  to  act  in  conformity  with 
these  judgments.  Nature  and  the  child  itself  carry  on 
three-quarters  of  the  work  of  natural  education ;  we  our¬ 
selves  must  do  the  rest. 

By  attentive  observation  of  children  we  obtain  a  multi¬ 
tude  of  indications,  not  only  concerning  the  genesis  of 
their  faculties,  but  also  as  to  the  direction  to  be  given  to 
them.  For  instance,  children  of  their  own  accord  judge 
by  comparison ;  it  is  for  us  to  watch  over  and  help  tlrcir 
judgment  without  seeming  to  do  so. 

A  child  will  go  on  tormenting  a  cat  or  a  dog  till  sud¬ 
denly  the  animal  turns  round  and  bites  or  scratches  him , 
and  then  he  says :  “Bad  pussy,”  “bad  doggie.”  It  is  for 


174  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


us  then  to  make  him  correct  the  judgment  by  which  he 
has  affirmed  his  conception  of  the  relation  between  the 
idea  of  cat  or  dog,  and  scratch  or  bite.  When  he  says, 
“Good  baby”  or  “Naughty  baby,”  he  again  makes  a  com¬ 
parative  judgment,  bearing  on  the  relation  between  such 
and  such  actions  and  the  qualification  they  generally 
receive.  Our  part  is  to  place  the  child  frequently  in  posi¬ 
tions  to  renew  such  judgments,  with  the  use  of  the  same 
formula,  d,  proj)os  of  actions  and  events  of  which  wTe  cannot 
always  actually  bring  about  the  occurrence,  although  we 
can  always  turn  it  to  profit.  Thus,  without  crushing  the 
child’s  initiative,  we  shall  be  doing  all  in  our  power  to 
increase  its  store  of  observations,  of  terms  of  comparison, 
and  of  similarities— in  one  word,  its  intellectual  sphere. 

But  here  the  great  danger  to  be  feared  is,  that  we  should 
aim  at  developing  children,  not  for  themselves,  but  for 
ourselves.  How  often  we  see  people  endeavoring  to  incul¬ 
cate  on  children  the  judgments  and  the  practices  of  adults, 
without  stopping  to  consider  how  much  their  young  minds 
are  capable  of  understanding  or  retaining.  I  will  cite  but 
one  example,  of  which  I  was  a  witness  at  a  table  d'  Jiote  at 
Luchon.  It  is  the  custom  in  good  Spanish  families  always 
to  leave  something  on  one’s  plate,  in  order  not  to  appear 
too  great  an  eater.  They  accustom  their  children  to  this 
habit  by  telling  them  frequently:  “Politeness  requires  you 
to  leave  something  on  your  plate;  don’t  forget  this,  it  is 
politeness.”  At  the  table  where  I  was  sitting,  a  little  girl, 
two-and-a-half  years  old,  had  reluctantly  left  a  portion  of 
some  sweet  dish.  She  leaned  toward  her  mother  and 
whispered  in  her  ear,  but  loud  enough  for  every  one  to 
hear:  “Please,  mamma,  may  I  eat  politeness  to-day?”  It 
is  thus  we  are  understood  by  children  whom  we  do  not 
take  the  trouble  to  seek  to  understand.  We  either  give 
them  credit  for  too  much  or  too  little  intelligence. 

And  here  I  must  point  out  an  error  common  enough  in 
moralists  and  educators,  and  doubtless  also  in  parents, 
viz.,  the  idea  that  children  are  good  observers  and  judges 
of  character.  This  requires  explanation.  Their  faculty 
of  discernment,  very  limited  in  its  scope,  is  always  con¬ 
fined  in  rather  narrow  subjective  bounds.  Like  animals 


JUDGMENT. 


175 


and  savages,  they  only  direct  this  faculty  of  discernment 
towards  the  most  salient  external  qualities,  and,  above  all, 
those  which  have  some  interest  for  them,  either  actual  or 
near  at  hand.  The  attention,  awakened  by  interest, 
causes  a  child  to  notice  a  thousand  differences,  full  of  im¬ 
portance  for  himself,  though  often  of  none  whatever  to 
other  people.  That  which  generally  takes  hold  of  him  at 
first  sight,  is  the  expression  of  the  gestures,  the  physiog¬ 
nomy,  the  tone  of  the  voice,  the  simple  and  common  senti¬ 
ments,  the  broad  signification,  rather  than  the  delicate 
shades  even  of  emotions  which  closely  touch  his  sympathy. 
A  child  of  six  months  knows  very  well  with  whom  he  has 
to  deal  (but  in  respect  to  a  few  actions  only) — if  he  is  with 
a  severe  father  or  an  indulgent  one,  a  firm  or  yielding 
mother,  an  uncle  who  is  fond  of  playing  with  him,  or  a 
sedate  aunt,  lively  good-tempered  companions,  or  dull  and 
surly  ones.  He  knows  very  well,  even  at  this  age,  but 
better  still  a  few  months  later,  what  he  may  venture  with 
the  one  and  the  other.  In  like  manner,  animals  distin¬ 
guish  their  prey  a  long  wray  off,  and  proceed  towards  it  in 
a  very  different  way  than  they  do  towards  other  animals. 
In  the  same  way  too  the  acuteness  of  sense,  or  rather  the 
judicial  sensibility,  of  savages  is  exclusively  limited  to  the 
kind  of  perceptions  which  they  have  had  most  interest  in 
discerning;  just  as  a  compositor  can  distinguish  by  the 
mere  touch  the  letters  which  he  wants;  or  a  seamstress 
can  pick  out  with  a  single  glance  the  needle  and  thread  of 
the  size  she  wants  from  amongst  a  quantity  of  others;  or 
a  botanist  will  tell  you  the  name  of  a  plant  which,  either 
from  its  distance  or  diminutive  size,  can  hardly  be  seen  by 
other  people.  This  faculty  of  discernment  is  a  matter  of 
interested  habit,  but  it  is  nevertheless  liable  to  number¬ 
less  errors.  1 

We  may  sometimes  notice  in  quite  young  children  judg¬ 
ments  which  are  as  concrete  and  as  little  general  as  possi¬ 
ble,  which  in  an  adult  pass  for  general  judgments.  I  will 


1  As  ideas  scarcely  exist,  without  judgments,  or  judgments  without  rea¬ 
sonings,  we  may  say,  that  error  is  generally  the  result  of  faulty  induction 
or  deduction.  We  shall  therefore  treat  more  particularly  of  error  in  the 
chapter  on  Reasoning. 


176  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


give  an  example  bearing  on  plurality  of  repetition, which  is 
almost  always  confounded  with  a  definite  number  of  times 
in  which  an  event  has  happened.  I  was  walking  with  my 
nephew  Charles,  then  four  years  old.  We  were  going 
along  a  canal  bordered  with  willows  and  alder-trees. 
Charles,  who  was  a  born  naturalist,  and  had  his  eye  on 
everything,  talked  on  without  ceasing  m  the  most  interest¬ 
ing  fashion,  and  suddenly  showed  me  a  dragon-fly  with 
blue  gauzy  wings  which  had  just  flown  away  at  our  ap¬ 
proach.  “Generally,”  Charles  began  to  say  (and  I  listened 
attentively,  asking  myself  what  this  fine-sounding  adverb 
might  mean  from  a  mouth  of  four  years  old),  “  generally,” 
he  said  a  second  time,  “dragon-flies  sit  on  the  leaves  in  the 
sunshine,  but  not  always.”  I  confess  I  was  surprised  to 
find  so  young  a  child  performing  thus  a  process  of  applied 
abstraction,  or  at  least  showing  a  tendency  towards  general 
abstraction  apropos  of  concrete  facts,  which  had  been  in¬ 
terpreted  before  him,  and  of  which  he  had  understood  the 
interpretation. 

There  is  not  a  single  specimen  of  this  sort  of  abstrac¬ 
tion,  resulting  in  practical  judgments,  of  which  one  cannot 
discover  the  rudiments  even  in  a  child  of  twenty  months. 
But  we  must  not  surely  expect  them  to  distinguish  between 
the  good  and  the  evil,  the  qualities  and  faults  of  persons 
and  of  things ;  or,  if  they  do,  it  is  only  after  the  fashion  of 
so  many  ill-educated  and  not  over-wise  adults,  without 
knowing  it  and  in  a  very  slight  measure.  It  is  however 
very  certain  that  the  ideas  a  child  has  of  its  father  and 
mother,  and  all  the  things  it  knows  are  not  simple  ideas; 
but  that  he  has  formed  general  and  dominant  conceptions 
of  them — mental  wholes  from  which  he  is  continually  cut¬ 
ting  off  abstractions  proportioned  to  his  judicial  capacity. 
The  people  he  knows  but  little  are  wholly  good  or  bad, 
Without  modification,  like  the  heroes  of  pseudo-classic 
tragedy.  Those  whom  he  knows  well,  are  sometimes  one, 
sometimes  the  other — chiefly  according  to  his  own  conduct. 
Thus,  within  very  narrow  limits,  his  judgment  proceeds 
from  the  abstract  to  the  general. 


ABSTRACTION. 


177 


H. 

ABSTRACTION. 

As  all  our  ideas  are  produced  by  sensations,  we  may  say 
that  each  distinct  idea  is  the  result  of  analysis.  “  No  one 
sense  presents  to  us  all  the  qualities  which  we  perceive  in 
a  body.  Sight  presents  colors;  hearing,  sounds,  etc.  .  . 

.  When  we  use  our  senses  separately,  the  objects  become 
decomposed  as  it  were :  we  observe  successively  the  differ¬ 
ent  parts  of  a  watch.  Touch  is,  of  all  the  senses,  the  one 
which  reveals  to  us  the  greatest  number  of  qualities ;  but 
though  it  presents  several  of  them  synchronically,  we  only 
note  them  successively.”  1  This  necessity  of  analysis,  in¬ 
herent  in  our  organization,  may  be  considered  as  having 
two  principal  degrees  or  forms,  that  which  results  in  no¬ 
tions  of  individuals,  and  that  which  results  in  notions  of 
modes,  or  qualities,  or  abstract  ideas,  as  it  has  been  agreed 
to  call  them.  We  shall  study  both  these  forms  of  analysis 
in  the  young  child. 

The  most  important  stages  in  a  child’s  progress  take 
place  when  the  senses  of  sight  and  hearing  have  come  to 
the  aid  of  touch  and  taste.  It  is  at  this  period  that  we  can 
begin  to  take  hold  of  some  of  the  manifestations  of  the 
young  intelligence  in  process  of  development.  We  should 
form  a  false  conception  of  the  first  visual  perceptions  of  a 
little  child,  if  we  compared  him  to  the  blind  youth  whom 
Cheselden  operated  on  for  cataract,  and  who  saw  different 
objects  placed  before  his  eyes  only  as  masses  of  color 
spread  over  a  plain  surface.  In  the  first  place  the  sense  of 
touch  has  not  yet  furnished  the  child  with  the  conception 
of  a  plane  surface,  and  secondly,  the  field  of  vision  only 
opens  out  to  him  gradually.  Tiedemann  says  of  his  little 
son,  when  only  two  or  three  days  old:  “His  eye  already 
moved  in  all  directions,  not  by  chance,  but  as  if  he 
were  looking  out  for  objects,  and  they  seemed  to  rest  by 
preference  on  things  in  motion.”  This  observation  is  not 
strictly  accurate.  I  have  never  seen  any  infant  before  the 


i  Condillac,  Cows  d’  Etudes,  t.  i.,  i>.  47.  Edit.  Dufart.  an  II.  de  la  Hep. 

13 


178  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


age  of  eight  days  follow  any  object  with  its  eyes  except  a 
candle  or  the  flame  of  a  fire.  But  I  have  seen  many  at  a 
month  old  whose  eyes  could  follow  (their  head  all  the 
while  remaining  immovable)  the  movements  of  an  object 
waved  about  at  a  distance  of  a  few  inches,  or  who  would 
fix  their  eyes  for  a  length  of  time  on  any  brilliant  object  two 
or  three  yards  off.  In  proportion  as  a  child’s  visual  organs 
are  exercised  and  its  field  of  vision  enlarges,  visual  percep¬ 
tions  come  to  it  as  luminous  or  colored  particles. 

In  what  would  be  a  picture  to  an  adult,  a  child  sees  only 
the  salient  points.  His  eye  only  distinguishes  the  different 
colors  little  by  little,  and  the  want  of  adjusting  power  in  his 
sight  prevents  his  seizing  any  but  a  few  prominent  objects 
or  even  some  parts  of  these  objects.  This  must  be  the  case 
if  the  observations  which  I  have  recorded  in  the  chapter  on 
attention  are  accurate.  First  of  all,  it  is  his  mother’s  or 
his  nurse’s  breast,  the  bright  flame  or  reflection  of  a  candle, 
the  outline  of  a  piece  of  furniture  or  a  window,  anything 
striking  in  form  or  color  (these  are  everything  to  children) 
which  strike  his  retina  and  engrave  themselves  on  his  mem¬ 
ory.  External  impressions  seem  to  make  their  way  to  a 
child’s  eyes,  as  they  do  to  all  his  other  senses,  bit  by  bit, 
color  by  color.  Hence,  to  perceive  sensations  distinctly, 
to  preserve  a  distinct  recollection  of  them  apart  from  the 
vague  complexity  of  the  concomitant  impressions  which 
have  only  very  slightly  affected  the  senses,  this  is  a  work 
of  separation  which  may  be  considered  a  sort  of  rudiment¬ 
ary  abstraction. 

With  these  primary  perceptions,  parcelled  out  and  iso¬ 
lated,  which  we  look  upon  as  the  first  abstractions,  there 
mingle  by  degrees  secondary  perceptions,  the  whole  sum  of 
which  make  up  the  first  concretions.  Now  one  of  the  dom¬ 
inant  perceptions  will  recall  to  the  child  and  lead  him  to 
infer  a  whole  group  of  secondary  perceptions  associated 
with  this  dominant  one.  Such  and  such  a  color  or  sound, 
or  any  particular  tactile  or  sapid  impression,  will  instantly 
suggest  the  idea  of  such  and  such  a  form,  object,  or  person. 
The  person  of  his  nurse  will  at  first  have  become  known  to 
him  by  a  continual  succession  of  analytical  perceptions. 
Her  breast,  which  afforded  him  the  keenest  enjoyment,  and 


ABSTRACTION. 


179 


against  which  he  nestled  his  little  face,  delighting  in  its 
softness  and  warmth;  her  warm  caressing  hands,  so  sym¬ 
pathetic  both  to  touch  and  sight;  the  different  parts  of  her 
face,  her  eyes,  her  cheeks,  her  lips,  whence  come  the  coax¬ 
ing  words  and  pretty  songs,  and  the  smile  he  so  soon 
learns  to  understand.  The  different  parts  of  his  cradle, 
the  bars  and  legs  of  the  chairs,  the  polished  surface  and 
shining  edges  of  the  table,  and  the  surrounding  pieces  of 
furniture,  are  all  objects  from  which  there  have  come  to 
him  successions  of  detached  impressions  which  will  pres¬ 
ently  combine  among  themselves  to  form  individual  con¬ 
ceptions.  But  these  ideas  of  individuals  and  whole  objects 
are  still  extremely  vague  and  incomplete.  I  knew  a  child 
of  two  months  old  who  could  clearly  distinguish  a  person 
from  an  animal,  or  from  apiece  of  furniture;  but  he  used 
to  smile  indiscriminately  at  the  first  comer,  and  would 
seek  the  breast  of  any  woman  who  took  him  in  her  arms. 
But  at  three  months  he  could  so  well  distinguish  his  nurse 
from  his  mother  that  if,  when  his  mother  was  holding 
him,  his  nurse  took  another  child  on  her  lap,  or  he  saw 
her  being  embraced  by  any  one,  he  would  at  once  show  his 
jealousy  by  frowns  and  tears.  At  this  age  he  also  clearly 
distinguished  a  cat  from  a  dog,  the  former  having  scratched 
him  more  than  once,  whereas  the  latter  overwhelmed  him 
daily  with  caresses;  the  moment  the  dog  appeared,  he 
always  showed  great  delight.  One  month  had  thus  suf¬ 
ficed  to  fix  clearly  in  his  mind  a  large  number  of  individ¬ 
ual  conceptions. 

The  necessity  which  children  are  under  of  seeing  in  a 
detached  and  scrappy  manner  in  order  to  see  well,  makes 
them  continually  practice  that  kind  of  abstraction  by  which 
we  separate  qualities  from  objects.  From  those  objects 
which  the  child  has  already  distinguished  as  individual, 
there  come  to  him  at  different  moments  particularly  vivid 
impressions.  Thus,  I  place  a  beautiful  rose,  in  the  light 
of  a  shaded  lamp,  before  a  four- months-old  child;  his 
mother  holds  him  upright  on  her  knees  before  the  table 
where  I  have  placed  the  pretty  flower;  the  child  opens  his 
mouth,  babbles,  holds  out  his  arms,  jumps,  throws  himself 
forward;  his  mother  then  places  him  on  the  table,  and  he 


ISO  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


twists  and  twirls  himself  about  in  the  most  curious  fashion, 
looking  all  the  time  at  the  rose.  Is  it  not  probable  that 
this  color,  which  appears  to  his  eye  without  any  precise 
form,  and  which  has  so  keenly  excited  his  attention,  will 
remain  in  his  memory  as  a  very  vivid  color,  without  any 
definite  concrete  embodiment?  A  few  minutes  after,  I 
lifted  up  the  shade,  and  the  strong  flood  of  light,  very  brill¬ 
iant  and  soft,  made  him  utter  cries  of  joy  and  jump  about 
more  vigorously  than  ever;  the  rose  is  forgotten — he  does 
not  even  see  it — he  is  wholly  taken  up  with  the  lovely 
golden  flame,  which  fascinates  and  dazzles  his  sight.  We 
may  be  sure  that  the  memory  of  this  bright  and  flickering 
flame  will  be  preserved  with  far  greater  vividness  than 
that  of  the  nearer  surrounding  objects,  which  have  only 
produced  very  feeble  and  indefinite  impressions  on  him. 
Dominant  sensations  of  this  kind,  by  their  energy  or  fre¬ 
quency,  tend  to  efface  the  idea  of  the  objects  from  which 
they  proceed,  to  separate  or  abstract  themselves.  Some¬ 
times  even  in  their  waking  hours,  but  more  especially  dur¬ 
ing  their  dreams,  when  there  are  no  external  impressions 
to  renew  the  chain  of  usual  associations,  there  is  no  doubt 
that  children’s  brains  are  traversed  by  impressions  as  vivid 
in  themselves  as  they  are  vague  and  undetermined,  and 
that  hallucinations  corresponding  to  a  sound,  a  color,  a 
tactile,  muscular,  or  thermometric  sensation,  a  form,  a 
dimension,  or  a  taste,  awaken  vivid  sensations  in  them 
without  being  accompanied  by  those  feebler  sensorial  im¬ 
pressions  which  were  grouped  around  them;  i.  e.,  with¬ 
out  the  aid  of  any  definite  object.  Here  we  see  reproduc¬ 
tive  imagination  assisting  in  the  operation  of  modal 
abstraction. 

These  acts  of  abstraction ,  resulting  in  individual  or  modal 
conceptions,  which  the  infant  practices  very  early,  have  a 
continual  tendency  to  relapse  into  the  confused  masses, 
the  indistinct  wholes,  and  the  various  concretions  from 
whence  they  were  drawn.  The  series,  I  will  not  say  of 
impressions,  but  of  habitual  conceptions,  regular  and 
natural,  is  that  of  synthetic  vision  for  the  child  as  well  as 
for  the  adult.  The  individual  forms  are  so  many  and  so 
Varied,  that  the  memory  allows  them  little  by  little  to  fall 


ABSTRACTION. 


181 


back  into  the  great  objective  mass,  vaguely  but  directly 
seized,  and  from  which  they  only  detached  themselves 
under  exceptional  or  temporary  circumstances.  The  qual¬ 
ities  separately  perceived  in  these  entities,  however  striking 
they  may  have  been  at  first,  are  not  always  so  in  the  same 
degree,  cannot  always  equally  captivate  the  attention  or 
awaken  the  memory.  The  flame  of  a  candle  is  not  always 
equally  bright  or  flickering;  tactile,  sapid,  olfactory,  and 
auditive  impressions  do  not  always  strike  the  child’s  sen- 
sorium  with  the  same  intensity,  nor  during  the  same  length 
of  time.  This  is  why  the  recollections  of  individual  forms, 
although  strongly  graven  on  their  intelligence,  lose  by 
degrees  their  first  precision,  so  that  the  idea  of  a  tree,  for 
instance,  furnished  by  direct  and  perfectly  distinct  mem¬ 
ories,  comes  back  to  the  mind  in  a  vague  and  indistinct 
form,  which  might  be  taken  for  a  general  idea.  In  the 
same  way,  the  essential,  constant,  and  necessary  qualities 
which  analysis  has  discovered  in  different  objects,  are  pre¬ 
served  in  the  mind  with  indelible  marks;  but  though  the 
remembrance  of  these  qualities  may  very  often  be  unac¬ 
companied  by  any  series  of  distinct  impressions,  there  is 
always  mixed  with  it  a  vague  and  confused  image  of  certain 
perceptions  which  were  associated  with  them. 

Thus,  however  much  we  may  try — and  it  is  the  same,  I 
take  it,  with  more  than  one  psychologist — it  is  impossible 
for  us  to  think  of  any  abstract  idea  of  white,  red,  a  sharp 
or  flat  sound,  beauty,  ugliness,  goodness,  vice,  number, 
space,  extent,  without  imagining  some  particular  object, 
more  or  less  determined  in  form,  to  which  the  abstraction 
which  we  have  conceived  mentally  joins  itself,  and  thus 
becomes  a  concretion. 

This  then  being  onr  conception  of  the  process  of  abstrac¬ 
tion  which  Locke,  Condillac,  and  so  many  others  only 
regard  as  a  consequence  of  language,  it  will  not  seem  sur¬ 
prising  that  we  should  allow  this  power  to  exist  in  young 
children.  Language  up  to  a  certain  point  fixes  and  defines, 
but  it  does  not  engender  what  are  called  abstract  ideas. 
The  most  abstract  idea  that  we  can  conceive  is  equivalent 
to  the  conception  of  the  most  abstract  sign,  i.  e.,  to  a  material 
idea — to  a  kind  of  simplified  and  refined  concrete.  This 


182  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


means  first,  that  such  a  thing  as  a  pure  idea  does  not  exist, 
that  it  is  a  conception  of  metaphysicians  and  algebraists — 
a  logical  convention;  and,  secondly,  that  relatively  abstract 
ideas  (the  only  ones  which  we  admit)  are  even  in  their 
origin  independent  of  the  faculty  of  language.  M.  Vulpian 
goes  even  further  than  we  do;  he  is  of  opinion  that  ani¬ 
mals  as  well  as  children  possess  this  power  of  abstraction. 

“There  are,”  says  M.  Yulpian,  “abstractions  relative  to 
material  things,  or  rather  to  the  sensations  which  they 
produce  on  us.  There  are,  for  instance,  the  abstractions 
by  which  we  form  the  ideas  of  trees,  dogs,  red,  green,  such 
and  such  sounds,  etc.  In  a  word,  there  are  tangible 
abstractions,  formed  by  the  help  of  tangible  properties. 
Well  then!  It  seems  to  me  difficult  to  refuse  the  capacity 
for  these  abstract  ideas,  in  a  measure  at  least,  to  the 
superior  animals,  for  it  is  evident  that  their  memory, 
reflection,  and  reason  are  sometimes  exercised  on  ideas  of 
this  sort. 

“As  to  general  abstract  ideas,  it  seems  to  me  quite  doubt¬ 
ful  whether  animals  have  them — whether  they  have  the 
slightest  abstract  idea  of  infinity,  of  time,  of  space,  of  di¬ 
mension,  number,  connection,  etc.  What  confirms  me  in 
this  conviction  that  they  have  none  of  these  abstract  ideas, 
is,  that  I  am  not  sure  that  man  has  them  himself.  We 
are  here  at  the  mercy  of  an  illusion  which  has  been  too 
little  insisted  on.  Animals,  or  at  least,  certain  kinds  of 
animals,  have  a  sort  of  language  which  enables  them  to 
communicate  with  each  other,  by  modulations  and  varia¬ 
tions  of  the  voice,  or  by  other  special  sounds,  or  by  grad¬ 
uated  contact.  Concerning  this  latter  mode,  we  know 
nothing  more  remarkable  than  the  antennal  language  of 
ants,  described  by  Huber.  But,  definitively  speaking, 
these  modes  of  language  are  very  different  to  those  of  man. 
Man  alone  possesses  real  articulate  language,  he  alone  can 
make  very  varied  abstractions  by  the  aid  of  this  language ; 
he  alone,  I  need  hardly  say,  can  also  make  metaphysical 
abstractions.  But  from  the  fact  that,  by  means  of  certain 
words  agreed  upon,  we  have  been  able  to  designate  these 
abstractions,  we  must  not  deduce  as  a  necessary  conclu¬ 
sion  that  man  is  capable  of  conceiving  abstract  mefcaphysi- 


ABSTRACTION. 


183 


cal  ideas.  There  is  no  possibility  of  the  existence  of  any 
ideas  unless  there  is  the  possibility  of  more  or  less  distinct 
intellectual  representation  of  them.  For  instance,  can  we 
represent  to  ourselves  in  an  abstract  manner  time,  space, 
etc.  ?  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  so-called  general  ideas  do  not 
exist  in  reality,  and  they  ought  only  to  be  considered  as 
algebraical  abstractions,  so  to  speak.” 

Thus,  between  the  abstractions  produced  by  the  adult 
and  those  which  the  child  and  the  animal  form,  without 
the  aid  of  vocal  signs,  the  difference  is  not  qualitative,  but 
only  quantitative. 

If  we  take  a  child  at  the  moment  when  he  is  beginning 
to  use  language  with  tolerable  ease,  we  see  that,  in  spite 
of  the  signs  he  gives  of  deliberation  and  efforts  to  remem¬ 
ber,  he  is  always,  as  he  will  still  be  when  grown  up, 
indolent  as  to  abstraction  which  does  not  rest  on  an 
objective  representation,  sufficiently  determinate.  A  child 
of  two  years  perfectly  well  understood  the  sense  of  these 
phrases:  “This  glass  is  larger  than  this  stopper;”  “Baby 
is  a  good  boy;”  “The  dog  is  naughty.”  But  at  three  years 
of  age  he  did  not  understand  these  expressions:  “The 
size  of  that  house,”  “The  goodness  of  papa,”  “The 
naughtiness  of  the  dog;”  notwithstanding  the  resemblance 
of  sound  between  the  abstract  words  and  the  correspond¬ 
ing  adjectives.  A  little  girl  of  twenty-three  months  could 
recite  fluently  the  names  of  the  principal  colors,  but  she 
could  only  identify  a  few  of  them  on  objects.  Her  father 
pulled  out  one  book  after  another  from  his  shelves,  and 
showed  them  to  her,  saying:  “What  color  is  that?”  “It 
is  white,”  “It  is  black,”  “It  is  blue,”  “It  is  red,”  she 
replied,  naming  the  colors  quite  rightly.  But  there  was 
one  color  which  she  could  not  determine.  “It  is  not  red 
nor  blue,”  she  said,  after  several  seconds’  hesitation.  Her 
father  insisted:  “What  color  is  it  then?”  She  answered: 
“Not  red,  nor  blue,  nor  white,  at  all,  at  all.”  She  could  not 
find  the  word  yellow,  although  it  was  well  imprinted  in 
her  memory,  and  the  color  yellow  was  also  well  known  to 
her  and  clearly  differentiated  in  her  mind;  for  she  added 
presently:  “Like  little  girl’s  hat.”  Her  hesitation  pro¬ 
ceeded  more  from  the  difficulty  of  evolving  an  idea  rela- 


184  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


tively  abstract,  than  of  recalling  a  well-known  word.  In 
fact,  another  day,  she  made  a  mistake  about  green,  not 
being  able  to  name  the  color  of  a  green  ribbon ;  and  another 
time  again  about  yellow.  Her  father  having  said  to  her, 
“Go  and  look  on  my  table  for  a  yellow  paper, ”  she  brought 
three  of  different  colors,  and  none  of  them  the  right 
one.  1 

We  have  already  shown,  in  the  chapter  on  association, 
that  young  infants  possess  the  rudiments  of  the  ideas  of 
cause,  place,  time,  etc.  We  may  also  observe  in  them, 
among  other  signs  of  judgments  resulting  in  what  we  call 
common-sense  notions,  the  existence  of  the  notion  of 
quantity,  and  in  particular  of  numeric  quantity.  A  very 
young  baby,  if  we  offer  it  a  large  piece  of  cake  or  fruit,  to¬ 
gether  with  a  smaller  piece,  will  stretch  out  its  hand  to  the 
larger  piece.  In  like  manner,  a  kitten  two  months  old 
to  whom  I  had  thrown  a  piece  of  meat,  left  this  piece  to 
go  after  a  larger  piece  which  I  had  thrown  to  another  cat. 
As  to  ideas  of  number,  children,  and  no  doubt  animals 
also,  confuse  them  for  a  long  time  with  ideas  of  greater  or 
less  quantity.  I  have  been  able  to  prove  that  a  three- 
months-old  kitten  had  only  the  vaguest  notion  of  num¬ 
ber.  The  last  time  but  one  that  she  presented  me  with  a 
family  of  kittens,  I  only  kept  one  of  them;  in  her  grief  at 
losing  the  others,  she  used  to  leave  this  one  alone  for 
horns,  or  else  carry  it  about  from  place  to  place;  it  died 
when  ten  days  old,  just  as  its  eyes  were  opening,  and  there 
was  no  doubt  that  its  death  was  caused  by  want  of  care 
and  food.  The  next  time  I  kept  two  out  of  five.  She  was 
perfectly  happy  with  these  two,  and  did  not  trouble  her¬ 
self  about  the  rest;  and  I  could  not  but  conclude  that  two 
represented  many  to  her,  just  as  well  as  five  did. 

M.  Houzeau  does  not  deny  this  faculty  to  certain  ani¬ 
mals,  but  he  reduces  it  to  very  narrow  limits.  “There  is 
no  doubt,”  he  says,  “that  certain  animals  are  able  to 
count,  whether  it  be  a  number  of  objects  or  the  number  of 
times  that  a  similar  action  is  repeated,  provided  that  the 


1  Vulpian,  Physiologie  du  Systeme  Nerveux,  pp.  911,  912, 


ABSTRACTION. 


185 


number  is  not  high.  This  is  the  case,  for  instance,  with 
the  magpie  (Pica  caudata).  When  this  bird  is  watched  by 
a  party  of  sportsmen,  it  does  not  stir  till  they  begin  to 
move  away.  If  they  go  away  one  after  the  other,  the  bird 
will  wait  till  the  fourth  has  gone ;  but  beyond  this  number 
it  seems  to  lose  count,  and  sometimes  flies  out  of  its  hid¬ 
ing-place  too  soon,  showing  that  it  has  made  a  mistake.1 
The  following  anecdote  proves  that  mules  can  count  up  to 
five  at  any  rate.  In  some  of  the  cities  of  the  United  States 
many  of  the  trams  are  drawn  by  mules.  This  is  especially 
the  case  at  New  Orleans,  where  mules  are  preferred  to 
horses.  The  St.  Charles  Street  line  has  a  short  branch¬ 
line,  that  of  the  Napoleon  Avenue,  where  each  mule  makes 
the  journey  five  times  before  being  unharnessed.  The 
veterinary  surgeon  of  the  line,  the  clever  Dr.  Louis,  one 
day  called  my  attention  to  this  fact,  which  I  was  able  to 
verify,  that  the  mules  on  duty  remain  silent  during  the 
first  journeys;  but  at  the  end  of  the  fifth,  as  soon  as  they 
arrive  at  the  station,  they  begin  to  neigh,  knowing  that  it 
is  time  for  them  to  he  unharnessed. 

“There  are  some  birds  and  quadrupeds  that  are  capable 
of  appreciating  number,  at  least  up  to  four  or  five.  How 
do  these  animals,  who  have  no  conventional  language, 
succeed  in  counting  up  to  five,  and  perhaps  higher?  They 
must  have  a  certain  numerical  medium,  a  means  of  dis¬ 
tinguishing  among  their  recollections.  Is  it  by  visual 
memory  and  the  juxtaposition  of  similar  images,  as  we 
might  count  by  placing  in  thought  a  number  of  trees  in 
file,  or  again  by  putting  counters  in  a  line?  We  cannot 
decide  this  question.”  1 

According  to  the  same  naturalist,  “Children  at  first  can 
only  distinguish  between  a  single  object  and  plurality.  At 
eighteen  months  they  can  tell  the  difference  between  one, 
two,  and  several.  At  about  three,  or  a  little  sooner,  they 
have  learnt  to  understand  one,  two,  and  four — two  times 
two.  It  is  scarcely  ever  till  a  later  age  that  they  count 
the  regular  series  one,  two,  three,  four;  and  here  they  stop 
for  a  long  time.  In  the  Brahmin  schools,  children  in  the 


1  Houzeau,  Facultes  Mentales  des  Animaux ,  t.  ii,  p.  207. 


186  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


first  class  are  only  taught  to  count  up  to  four;  in  the 
second  class  they  go  up  to  twenty.  In  Europe  it  has  been 
found  that  it  takes  six  or  seven  years  to  get  a  child  up  to 
a  hundred.  Children  can  no  doubt  repeat  the  numeration 
tables  learnt  by  heart  before  this  age;  hut  this  does  not 
mean  understanding  numbers,  or  being  able  to  determine 
the  numbers  of  any  given  collection  of  objects.  The  pre¬ 
ceding  examides  apply  to  European  children  of  medium 
intelligence  who  are  receiving  the  best  instruction. 

My  personal  observations  with  regard  to  little  chil¬ 
dren  who  cannot  speak  have  not  furnished  me  with  any 
indicatious  contrary  to  the  assertions  of  M.  Houzeau. 
When  a  child  nearly  three  months  old  to  whom  two  feed¬ 
ing  bottles  are  presented,  seizes  both  at  once;  when  he 
takes  two  objects  rather  than  one,  three  rather  than  two, 
when,  at  eight  months,  seeing  near  him  two  cats  resem¬ 
bling  each  other,  he  takes  one  for  the  other,  and  thinks 
there  is  only  one  cat,  he  is  evidently  confounding  the  idea 
of  plurality  with  that  of  quantity.  A  little  intelligent 
child,  two  and  a  half  years  old,  knew  how  to  count  up  to 
twelve ;  but  he  had  not  a  clear  idea  of  the  length  of  time 
represented  by  three  days.  “I  shall  come  back  in  three 
days,”  I  said  to  him  once;  and  he  answered  quickly: 
“What  does  that  mean,  in  three  days?"  I  then  said:  “I 
shall  come  hack,  not  to-morrow  morning,  hut  to-morrow, 
to-morrow,  and  again  to-morrow,”  and  he  appeared  satis¬ 
fied  with  this  explanation.  When  three  years  and  three 
months  old,  the  same  child  told  the  gardener  that  he  Avas 
going  away  to-morrow,  and  that  he  should  not  come  hack 
for  a  long  time.  “I  shall  come  hack,”  he  said,  “in  many, 
many,  many  to-morrows — in  a  year.”  This  last  formula  had 
been  learnt,  hut  not  understood ;  the  first  was  within  his 
comprehension,  and  his  own  invention.  The  same  child, 
and  I  have  remarked  the  same  fact  in  many  other  chil¬ 
dren,  had  still  greater  trouble  in  going  backwards  in  time, 
and  it  Avas  only  with  great  difficulty  that,  at  three  years  of 
age,  he  learnt  to  understand  the  idea  of  yesterday  and  the 
day  before  yesterday. 

Another  child,  at  three  years  old,  had  only  the  most 
hazy  rudimentary  conception  of  the  abstract  notions  of 


ABSTRACTION. 


187 


truth,  of  moral  goodness,  and  even  of  physical  beauty  or 
ugliness.  “What  is  truth?”  he  asked  his  aunt,  who  had 
said  to  him:  “Come,  Charlie,  tell  me  the  truth.”  “It  is 
when  one  does  not  tell  lies,”  she  said.  He  knew  very 
well  what  telling  lies  meant,  having  been  once  severely 
punished  for  saying  something  for  fun  which  was  not  true. 
“Being  good,”  meant  for  him  to  he  petted,  not  to  do  things 
which  caused  him  to  he  scolded,  which  made  his  mother 
look  sad  and  his  father  speak  angrily  and  slap  his  hand. 
To  be  naughty,  on  the  contrary,  was  to  do  all  these  tilings. 
But  he  confounded  the  idea  of  ugly  and  naughty.  When 
two  and  a  half  years  old,  he  used  to  repeat  over  and  over 
again:  “Such  a  person,  such  an  animal,  is  very  ugly;” 
sometimes,  hut  very  rarely,  he  would  say,  Such  and  such 
a  person  or  thing  was  very  pretty.  I  said  to  him  one  day, 
in  order  to  coax  him  to  be  quiet  whilst  he  was  being 
dressed:  “You  are  a  nice  little  boy,  you  are  very  good  and 
very  pretty.”  He  answered,  “Oh,  no!  I  am  not  pretty; 
mamma  told  me  I  was  not  pretty.”  “Then  are  you  ugly?” 
I  said  to  him.  “Yes,  sometimes,  when  I  give  papa  or 
mamma  trouble.”  He  knew  the  difference  between  pretty 
and  ugly,  but  he  confused  pretty  with  gentle  and  good, 
and  ugly  with  naughty  or  disobedient.  He  had  not  yet 
got  a  clear  idea  of  moral  goodness  or  badness,  moral  beauty 
or  ugliness,  but  he  had  very  distinct  ideas  of  physical 
beauty  or  ugliness.  He  would  look  at  some  people  with 
more  attention  and  pleasure  than  at  others,  because  they 
had  prettier  or  pleasanter  faces.  But  we  have  now  said 
enough  concerning  the  existence  in  little  children,  in  a 
rudimentary  and  concrete  state,  of  those  ideas  called 
rational,  which  are  both  the  result  and  the  basis  of  the 
most  ordinary  and  most  generalized  judgments  of  adults. 

In  conclusion,  if  it  is  not  quite  accurate  to  consider 
abstraction  as  a  special  case  of  attention  operating  on  con¬ 
cretions  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest  rung  of  the  ladder, 
let  us  at  least  admit  that  there  is  an  easy  kind  of  abstrac¬ 
tion  and  a  more  difficult  one;  one  kind  more  obtuse  and 
more  frequent,  another  subtler  and  rarer;  in  short,  that 
there  are  degrees  in  abstraction.  An  individual  idea  is  a 
synthesis  in  respect  to  the  totality  of  its  parts  or  qualities; 


1SS  THE  FIKST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


it  is  analytic  as  regards  the  sum  of  individuals.  The  ideas 
of  red,  blue,  or  white  are  abstract  in  respect  to  the  ideas 
of  the  flowers  possessing  these  qualities  of  color;  the  idea 
of  color  or  of  number  generally,  and  independent  of  any 
colored  object  or  numerical  collection,  is  still  more  abstract, 
etc.  In  children  we  only  have  examples  of  the  lowest 
form  of  abstraction.  The  starting  point  of  this  faculty  is 
no  other  than  the  faculty  of  discrimination.  A  child  who 
distinguishes  a  certain  number  of  persons  and  objects — 
his  mother  from  his  nurse,  the  dog  from  the  cat,  the  table 
from  the  book  case,  has  already  made  abstractions.  Every 
time  that,  for  one  reason  or  another,  he  seizes  in  any 
object  one  point  of  view,  one  concrete  quality  which  stands 
out  in  his  eyes  from  all  the  others,  he  makes  an  abstrac¬ 
tion.  Abstraction  of  this  sort  affords  a  child  intense  and 
absorbing  sensations.  If  a  candle  is  brought  near  him, 
his  attention  is  fixed  for  a  moment  on  the  flame,  which  is 
the  most  brilliant  part;  if. several  objects  of  different  colors 
are  shown  him,  he  looks  at  the  one  whose  color  strikes 
his  eye  most  vividly,  so  that  he  gets  an  idea  of  the  color 
rather  than  the  form  of  the  object.  This  is  the  sort  of 
abstract  ideas  which  are  most  familiar  to  young  children. 
They  are  detachments  from  concretions.  The  proof  of 
this  is  the  difficulty  that  children, — and  often,  too,  adults, 
— have  in  retaining  ideas  of  color,  sound,  form,  and  still 
more  of  quantity,  goodness,  wickedness,  beauty,  ugliness, 
etc.,  when  the  objects  whence  they  have  abstracted  these 
ideas  are  no  longer  in  their  presence.  Even  language, 
notwithstanding  its  power  of  recalling  the  ideas  of  objects 
and  qualities,  is  not  equivalent  to  the  presence  or  the  dis¬ 
tinct  recollection  of  the  object  itself  for  reminding  the 
child  of  the  particular  quality  belonging  to  it  which  im¬ 
pressed  him  most. 

We  may  say  that  abstraction  is  a  tendency  to  separate 
which  is  always  ideal  and  instantaneous;  and  it  is  by  asso¬ 
ciating  these  abstract  ideas, — which  for  a  moment  pre¬ 
sented  themselves  as  it  were  alone  to  the  mind, — with 
some  concrete  idea,  that  memory  will  recall  the  ideas  to 
the  child.  Children  understand  very  well,  after  their  own 
fashion,  the  words:  "Papa  good,”  “Baby  nice,”  “Baby 


COMPARISON. 


189 


naughty;”  but  they  attach  no  meaning,  during  the  first 
two  years  at  least,  to  the  words  goodness,  wickedness, 
ugliness,  and  many  other  familiar  ideas,  which  moreover 
very  few  adults  would  explain  without  the  intervention  of 
concrete  ideas. 

It  is  not,  therefore,  accurate  to  say  that  children  shrink 
from  abstractions;  on  the  contrary,  they  understand  and 
like  them  when  they  cost  them  neither  labor  nor  mental 
effort — i.  e.,  when  they  are  the  least  abstract  of  abstrac¬ 
tions. 

“Children  would  be  quite  content  only  to  look  at  things 
as  they  pass.  .  .  .  We  must  not,  however,  exagga.-- 

ate  their  indolence  in  this  respect;  it  is  not  so  great  as 
people  think.  All  effort,  in  fact,  has  its  charm;  abstrac¬ 
tion,  moreover,  quickly  makes  up  to  us  for  the  trouble  it 
costs ;  it  produces  those  simple  ideas  which  the  mind  above 
all  delights  in,  that  clearness  which  is  its  chief  good.  . 

.  .  Abstraction,  then,  is  not  an  enemy;  quite  the 

contrary;  and  the  mind  becomes  disciplined  to  it.  This 
is  why  it  is  well  not  to  spare  children  the  trouble  of  think¬ 
ing  under  abstract  forms,  so  long  as  we  do  not  fatigue  them 
and  disgust  them  with  study.” 

These  reflections,  which  apply  to  children  generally, 
must  necessarily,  in  some  measure,  apply  to  children  dur¬ 
ing  the  period  in  which  we  are  studying  them. 


in. 


COMPARISON. 

To  clearly  distinguish  two  individuals,  alike  or  differ¬ 
ent,  as  being  two,  is  not  to  compare,  but  it  is  a  step 
towards  comparison.  To  be  effectual,  comparison, — or 
the  fixing  of  the  attention  successively  on  two  or  several 
objects,  or  on  two  or  several  portions  of  objects, — must  be 
combined  with  modal  abstraction.  It  must  lead  to  the 
conception  of  a  relation,  either  of  resemblance  or  of  differ¬ 
ence,  cognized  between  these  various  objects  or  parts  of 
objects.  Comparison,  properly  so  called,  is  impossible  to 
very  young  babies,  at  least  for  several  weeks ;  and  it  only 


i90  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

becomes  possible  when  their  intelligence  is  sufficiently 
developed  to  combine  a  tolerably  distinct  vision  of  details 
with  a  power  of  attention  sufficient  to  take  in  several 
objects  one  after  another  in  a  short  space  of  time.  A 
young  baby  has  not  a  precise  idea  of  the  relations  between 
things,  and  does  not  look  out  for  them.  If  comparisons 
are  formed  in  its  mind,  it  is  of  themselves  that  they  arise; 
the  terms  come  together  in  his  mind  and  remain  associated, 
under  the  form  of  integration  and  disintegration,  of  con¬ 
crete  resemblance  and  difference;  but  the  child  does  not 
complete  the  work  begun  by  chance,  he  does  not  perceive 
the  bearings  precisely,  and  he  draws  no  conclusions. 

A  little  child  at  two  months  old  hesitates  to  take  sugared 
water  in  place  of  milk ;  he  will  refuse  plain  water,  and  will 
get  angry,  scream,  and  gesticulate  wildly  after  having 
swallowed  a  draught  of  bitter  medicine.  These  are  all  so 
many  different  sensations  for  him;  but  how  many  analo¬ 
gous  experiments  must  be  repeated  on  a  large  number  of 
objects,  before  he  gets  a  clear  idea  of  the  quality  which 
makes  the  difference,  or  begins  to  examine  if  such  and 
such  an  object  has  or  has  not  this  quality.  In  like  man¬ 
ner  with  young  animals,  if  several  bits  of  meat  are  thrown 
near  a  puppy  or  a  kitten  two  months  old,  they  will  take 
any  piece  indifferently — probably  that  which  is  nearest; 
but  when  a  little  older  they  will  instinctively  choose  the 
largest  piece,  because  the  strongest  visual  impression 
determines  the  strongest  desire.  But  when  they  are  a 
good  deal  older,  if  these  experiments  have  often  been  re¬ 
peated,  they  will  have  acquired  distinct  ideas  of  size  and 
even  of  superiority  of  taste;  and  it  will  now  be  deliberate 
reflection  that  makes  them  run  after  the  largest  piece  and 
fight  for  it  with  their  companions.  They  become  progress¬ 
ively  apt  at  comparison. 

At  three  months  old  children  seem  to  apprehend  a  large 
number  of  resemblances  and  differences;  but  as  yet  to 
compare  very  little,  if  at  all.  As  I  have  related  above,  I 
once  offered  a  little  girl  of  three  months  first  a  feeding- 
bottle  filled  with  milk,  aiid  then  an  empty  one;  she  lifted 
the  second  to  her  mouth  with  as  much  eagerness  as  she  did 
the  first.  I  then  offered  them  to  her  both  at  once,  and 


COMPARISON. 


191 


holding  them  close  together,  so  that  she  could  see  the 
white  liquid  moving  in  the  one.  She  did  what  Buridan’s 
celebrated  ass  would  perhaps  have  done,  had  he  had  two 
hands,  and  been  placed  between  a  bucket  of  water  and  a 
peck  of  hay;  he  would  have  seized  them  both.  The  little 
girl,  as  well  as  her  awkward  little  hands  would  let  her, 
seized  both  the  bottles  at  one  grasp.  Soon,  without  letting 
go  the  full  bottle  which  she  held  in  her  right  hand,  she 
lifted  the  empty  one  with  her  other  hand  to  her  lips.  Was 
this  the  result  of  mere  chance,  or  because  the  empty  bottle 
was  the  easier  to  lift?  It  matters  little  to  the  question 
with  which  we  are  concerned  here.  She  made  several 
fruitless  attempts  at  sucking,  and  then  pursed  up  her 
mouth  and  began  to  cry,  letting  fall  the  unsatisfactory 
bottle.  Soon,  however,  she  became  aware  of  what  she 
had  in  her  right  hand,  applied  it  promptly  to  her  lips,  and 
sucked  in  several  drops  of  its  contents  with  evident  satis¬ 
faction.  Up  to  that  moment  the  child  had  seen  no  differ¬ 
ence  between  these  two  objects;  and  possibly  even,  as  her 
attention  had  only  been  superficially  directed  towards 
them,  she  had  seen  but  one  object  in  these  two  so  nearly 
alike. 

I  wanted  to  vary  my  experiments  on  her;  and  knowing 
her  to  be  very  fond  of  brilliant  colors,  I  placed  before  her 
in  succession  some  engravings  of  different  kinds.  I  began 
with  pale  tints.  The  child,  on  seeing  them,  started  for¬ 
ward  and  uttered  some  joyous  exclamations,  and  stretched 
out  her  hands.  But  her  joy  was  beyond  bounds  when  I 
placed  more  brightly  colored  ones  before  her;  she  felt  them 
all  over,  thumped  them  with  her  hands,  rubbed  and  crum¬ 
pled  them  up,  put  them  in  her  mouth,  and  gazed  at  them 
in  ecstacy.  I  varied  the  experiment  a  second  time.  After 
some  minutes  devoted  to  another  amusement,  I  placed  two 
pictures  before  her,  one  of  which  was  brilliantly  colored. 
She  threw  herself  towards  both,  as  if  they  were  one  single 
object.  I  then  showed  them  to  her  separately;  she  evinced 
great  pleasure  in  looking  at  the  more  sombre  one,  but  with 
regard  to  the  other  her  joy  and  excitement  were  indescrib¬ 
able.  But  notwithstanding  that  she  had  been  so  strongly 
impressed  by  these  striking  differences,  they  had  beei) 


192  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


nothing  more  to  her  than  more  or  less  vivid  impressions; 
there  was  no  reversion  of  the  attention  to  the  objects  which 
had  produced  the  impressions,  not  the  slightest  suspicion 
of  difference  of  quality,  or  even  of  quality  possessed  in 
different  degrees,  not  the  slightest  attempt  at  comparison. 

From  similar  experiments  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  comparison,  as  we  understand  and  practice  it,  is  not 
possible  to  a  young  brain  of  only  three  months.  Is  the 
power  acquired  a  little  later?  and,  if  so,  in  what  measure? 
Here  again  I  leave  facts  to  speak  for  themselves,  without 
hastening  to  draw  conclusions. 

Some  years  ago,  I  had  two  grey  cats,  mother  and  son, 
alike  in  shape,  color,  and  general  appearance.  One  day, 
a  child  of  eight  months  old  who  was  brought  into  my  room, 
perceived  the  she  cat  at  a  little  distance  from  him,  and 
called  out  for  it  with  expressive  gestures  and  sounds.  I 
called  the  animal  up  to  me,  and  friendly  relations  were 
soon  established  between  it  and  the  child.  The  cat  raised 
her  head  and  her  back  to  be  stroked,  purred,  and  rubbed 
itself  backwards  and  forwards  against  the  child’s  frock. 
The  child  squeezed  the  cat  in  both  his  hands  and  pulled  it 
about  to  his  heart’s  content.  While  this  was  going  on,  the 
other  cat  came  on  the  scene,  approached  the  child,  purring, 
and  demanded  his  share  of  the  caresses.  What  was  the 
child’s  amazement  at  seeing  on  his  left  hand  the  same 
animal  that  he  saw  on  his  right.  He  turns  on  one  side 
and  sees  a  grey  cat,  he  turns  on  the  other  and  sees  a  grey 
cat  there  also.  He  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  believe  his 
eyes,  and  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  see  more  than 
one  object,  his  mind  being  absorbed  with  the  vivid  con¬ 
ception  of  one  alone.  What  could  have  been  passing  in 
that  little  brain?  The  eyes,  the  movements  of  the  arms, 
the  bending  expectant  attitudes,  all  testified  to  very  strong 
amazement.  But  the  uncertainty  of  his  judgment  did  not 
last  long;  and,  before  the  end  of  the  visit,  having  seen  the 
two  cats  before  him,  side  by  side,  and  at  a  distance,  and  in 
different  positions,  he  carried  away  the  remembrance  of 
two  similar  animals,  without  however  saying  to  himself 
that  they  were  alike.  Experiments  of  this  kind  often 
repeated,— and  they  are  repeated  every  day, — provide 


COMPARISON. 


193 


abundant  materials  for  abstraction,  and  enable  children  to 
detach  from  similar  or  different  perceptions  the  conception 
of  analogous  qualities,  and  stimulate  them  to  make  com¬ 
parisons. 

I  knew  a  little  child  of  ten  months  who  made  a  great 
distinction  between  cakes  and  potatoes,  which  he  was  very 
fond  of,  and  bread,  which  he  liked  less,  and  also  between 
meat  and  bread,  milk  and  wine,  and  wine  and  water.  I 
subjected  him  to  the  following  experiment:  On  one  side 
we  placed  a  cake,  on  the  other  a  piece  of  bread ;  without 
hesitation  he  seized  the  cake  and  carried  it  to  his  mouth. 
It  was  then  taken  away  from  him,  and  it  was  a  sight  to 
see  his  wild  agitation,  the  energetic  movements  of  his 
arms,  his  face  purple  with  rage,  and  his  eyes  all  the  time 
following  with  fixed  attention  the  movements  of  the  hand 
which  had  ravished  the  cake.  Soon  the  bread  was  offered 
him;  he  fell  into  the  snare  and  took  it;  but  before  biting 
it  he  recognized  his  error  and  threw  it  away  with  signs  of 
violent  anger.  If  one  wants  him  to  eat  soup,  one  must 
not  allow  him  to  see  potatoes,  meat,  or  fruit.  He  also 
behaves  differently  with  regard  to  his  own  playthings  and 
those  of  other  children.  He  has  no  objection  to  taking 
possession  of  their  toys  and  piling  them  up  with  his  own; 
but  if  any  one  touches  his,  he  snatches  them  violently 
away,  thus  showing  that  he  is  able  to  distinguish  his  own 
things  from  others’.  Also,  if  two  or  more  objects  are  held 
just  in  front  of  his  eyes,  he  sees  clearly  that  one  is  not  the 
other,  and  he  also  sees  in  what  they  differ;  he  compares 
almost  without  knowing  or  wishing  it — this  is  a  great  step 
in  advance. 

This  slow  progress  in  the  capacity  for  comparison, 
properly  so  called,  has  to  do  with  the  nature  of  the  atten¬ 
tive  power,  which  is  so  slight  and  fluctuating  in  little  chil¬ 
dren  that  they  only  observe  objects  superficially,  even  those 
which  interest  them  and  appeal  vividly  to  their  sensibility; 
and  generally  they  only  observe  them  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  particular  emotions  they  excite  at  a  given 
moment.  A  child  of  three  months  tries  to  take  hold  of,  to 
touch,  to  raise  to  his  mouth,  or  to  throw  down  anything 
that  comes  to  his  hand;  and,  whether  from  curiosity  or 
u 


194  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


from  the  need  of  using  his  restless  activity,  one  thing  is 
quickly  abandoned  for  another,  to  be  again  perhaps  taken 
up  in  a  few  moments.  A  child  of  this  age  is  relatively  so 
ignorant  that  he  finds  very  little  to  see  in  any  one  object, 
especially  in  inanimate  objects,  which  have  not  the  power 
of  living  objects  to  modify  themselves  in  all  sorts  of  ways 
and  to  keep  continually  alive  the  curiosity  which  they  first 
inspired.  This  is  why  very  young  children  who  cannot 
yet  speak  are  content  with  a  cursory  notice  of  the  most 
prominent  analogies  and  differences.  The  past  being  of 
less  interest  to  them  than  the  present,  they  feel  but  little 
need  of  comparing. 

But  from  the  age  of  fifteen  months,  and  especially  be¬ 
tween  twenty  months  and  two  years,  when  words  are 
beginning  to  come  to  their  aid,  they  begin  to  make  large 
use  of  their  faculty  of  comparison.  They  are  very  little 
on  the  look-out  for  differences,  although  they  are  very 
much  struck  by  them  when  they  see  them;  but  everywhere 
they  are  on  the  look-out  for  resemblances.  I  have  even 
noticed  this  in  a  little  boy  of  thirteen  months.  As  one  of 
his  cousins  was  like  his  uncle,  having  the  same  sort  of 
beard  and  the  same  kind  of  figure  and  voice,  the  child 
treated  him  at  once  as  an  old  acquaintance.  He  called 
him  Toto,  insisted  on  being  taken  to  him,  poked  his  finger 
in  his  eyes,  nose,  and  ears,  wanted  to  sit  by  him  at  meals, 
found  his  way  to  him  crawling  on  his  hands  and  knees,  as 
soon  as  he  was  awake,  in  order  to  play  on  his  bed.  After 
meals  he  insisted  on  being  taken  on  his  cousin’s  lap,  and 
thence  proceeded  to  climb  on  to  the  table,  where  he  began 
all  the  little  games  which  he  was  accustomed  to  play  with 
his  uncle.  Seeing  a  pencil  in  his  cousin’s  hand,  he  took 
it  from  him,  put  it  in  his  mouth,  and  made  with  his  lips 
the  movements  and  sounds  of  a  man  who  is  smoking  and 
puffing  the  smoke  into  the  air.  His  uncle  used  to  smoke. 
When  he  got  down  from  the  table,  he  took  his  cousin’s 
hand,  and  said  in  a  tone  of  entreaty:  “  Lou,  lou,  lou,  lou 
this  was  explained  to  the  cousin  as  signifying  that  he  was 
to  imitate  the  dog,  as  his  uncle  was  in  the  habit  of  doing, 
to  the  child’s  great  delight.  Out  in  the  garden,  the  child 
made  another  request  which  the  cousin  did  not  under- 


COMPARISON. 


195 


stand,  much  to  the  astonishment  of  the  former,  who  was 
accustomed  to  being  instantly  obeyed  by  his  uncle.  Thus 
this  child,  only  thirteen  months  old,  reasoned  and  acted 
on  the  ground  of  analogy;  from  certain  resemblances  in 
objects  he  inferred  others,  or  even  complete  similarity. 
At  first  it  would  surprise  him,  not  to  find  the  other  points 
of  resemblance  combined  with  the  first,  and  he  would  seek 
for  them  with  attention  heightened  by  vexation.  His 
cousin,  having  been  coached  up  in  his  part,  humored  as 
far  as  possible  all  the  habits  which  the  uncle  had  made 
necessary  to  the  child;  but  some  he  replaced  by  ways  of 
his  own;  and  the  end  of  it  was,  that  after  being  with  his 
cousin  for  three  weeks,  the  child  afterwards  expected  from 
his  uncle  all  the  gestures,  tones  of  voice,  games,  indul¬ 
gences,  and  acts  of  obedience  which  the  new  Toto  had 
accustomed  him  to.  The  parts  were  changed,  but  the  in¬ 
telligence,  the  sensibility,  and  the  will  of  the  child  worked 
in  the  same  fashion. 

At  the  age  of  two  and  a  half  children  compare  a  great 
deal.  They  frequently  use  such  phrases  as  these :  “  baby 
tree”  (little  tree),  “papa  tree”  (great  tree),  “mamma 
duck,”  “  baby  duck,”  to  signify  that  any  one  object  is 
larger  or  smaller  than  another.  A  child  of  the  same  age 
once  said  to  me:  “You  not  naughty;  baby  much  not 
naughty,”  wishing  to  express  that  I  was  not  naughty,  and 
he  was  still  less  so  than  I.  He  delighted  in  using  meta¬ 
phors  to  excite  laughter:  “  You  are  .  .  .”  then  he 

would  pause  to  excite  my  curiosity,  or  to  seek  for  an  idea 
which  was  perhaps  slow  in  coming;  “  You  are  a  duck,  or 
else  a  leaf,  an  acacia,  a  knife,  etc.”  These  were  absurd¬ 
ities,  but  they  indicated  habitual  efforts  to  find  out  like¬ 
nesses,  however  ridiculous  they  might  be.  When  three 
years  old,  wishing  to  say  something  pleasant  to  a  little 
girl  he  was  very  fond  of,  he  said  to  her:  “  You  a  rat,  a 
real  rat,  a  pretty  little  rat!  ”  Already,  for  several  months, 
he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  looking  fixedly  and  very  at¬ 
tentively  at  new  faces,  to  take  stock  of  them;  and  after 
having  studied  them  for  some  moments  he  would  say: 
“Beard  like  papa,  blue  dress  like  mamma,  watch  like 
grandpa.  .  .  At  this  age  he  knew  the  names  of 


196  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


more  than  twenty  trees,  and  could  indicate  the  most  ap¬ 
parent  specific  characteristics  of  each;  this  showed  great 
progress  in  the  faculties  of  observation  and  comparison. 


IV. 


GENERALIZATION. 

It  lias  been  for  a  long  time  admitted  that  language  is  a 
necessary  instrument  for  fixing,  and  indeed  for  forming, 
general  ideas.  It  seems  to  me,  however,  that  we  may  ob¬ 
serve  the  rudiments  of  these  processes  in  animals  and 
children  who  cannot  yet  speak. 

Animals  furnish  us  with  instances  of  an  initial  form  of 
generalization.  The  farm-dog,  who,  by  virtue  both  of  his 
trade  and  his  taste, — 

"  Donne  la  chasse  aux  gens 
Portant  baton  et  mendiants,” 

recognizes  them  in  the  first  instance  by  their  dress  and 
their  bdton.  These  specific  characters  are  engraved  in  the 
dog’s  intelligence,  and  associated  with  the  mechanical 
necessity  of  barking.  It  is  all  very  well  for  Bossuet  and 
his  disciples  to  urge,  that  if  dogs  bark  at  people  of  a 
certain  aspect,  it  is  because  their  masters  have  taught 
them  this  quite  mechanical  habit.  Why  then  do  dogs  not 
confound  one  beggar  with  another  beggar?  Some  beggars 
will  excite  them  to  fury,  while  others,  on  the  contrary, 
have  the  power  of  gaining  the  dog’s  good-will.  From  a 
distance,  the  dog  will  bark  at  the  one  as  well  as  the  other — 
this  is  the  effect  of  the  specific  character;  but  on  nearer 
sight  he  will  soften  down — this  is  the  effect  of  individual 
character. 

In  all  garrison  towns  one  sees  dogs  who  are  particularly 
sympathetic  towards  soldiers;  the  sight  of  red  trousers 
will  make  them  run  up  to  their  owner.  But  when  close 
to  the  soldier,  they  behave  differently,  according  to  the 
individual;  they  will  caress  one  with  eager  joy,  another 
they  will  treat  with  indifference,  another  perhaps  wTith  de¬ 
fiance.  After  the  general  idea  awakened  by  the  sight  of 
the  uniform,  and  which  is  equivalent  to  caresses,  friend- 


GENERALIZATION. 


197 


ship  and  play,  etc.,  there  rise  up  remembrances  of  good  or 
bad  treatment  associated  with  such  and  such  a  particular 
resemblance. 

M.  Houzeau  is  of  this  same  opinion.  “While  Huber 
was  making  his  splendid  observation  on  bees,  one  of  the 
hives  met  with  an  unforeseen  accident.  Part  of  the 
honeycomb  became  detached  from  the  partition  to  which 
it  was  fixed,  and  slipping  down  several  inches  rested  on 
the  floor  of  the  hive.  It  was  not  in  the  power  of  the  bees 
to  raise  it  up;  its  weight  was  too  great  for  their  physical 
strength.  So  they  confined  themselves  to  making  it 
secure  in  its  new  position,  by  constructing  fastenings  of 
wax,  with  here  and  there  abutments  or  props.  But  at  the 
same  time  they  thought  of  another  necessary  piece  of 
work,  that  of  consolidating  the  different  combs  which  had 
not  yet  met  with  accidents.  They  fortified  all  the  former 
points  of  attachment  with  fresh  wax  mixed  with  propolis.” 
If  this  act  of  prudence  does  not  attest  the  power  of  gen¬ 
eralization,  we  should  be  glad  to  know  under  what  name 
it  should  be  designated.  Bees  are  not  in  the  habit  of 
thus  consolidating  the  fastenings  of  their  honeycombs. 
They  resolved  on  this  precaution  after  the  failure  of 
their  labors,  and  they  extended  it  to  all  the  combs 
which  still  remained  in  their  proper  position.  They 
had  evidently  concluded  from  a  particular  case  to  the 
general. 

Here  is  an  analogous  example  in  the  case  of  mammals. 
“  In  October,  1859,  I  had  made  one  day  a  long  topograph¬ 
ical  examination  of  the  watershed  between  the  valleys  of 
Rio-Frio  and  the  Nucc6s.  My  animals  had  been  without 
water  from  the  time  of  my  departure  at  four  o’clock  in  the 
morning.  Towards  three  in  the  afternoon,  I  had  finished 
certain  surveying  operations ;  and  I  mounted  my  horse  and, 
descending  the  side  of  the  little  hill  on  the  summit  of 
which  I  had  spent  part  of  the  day,  I  took  the  direction 
which  would  lead  me  soonest  to  a  watercourse.  After 
crossing  a  stretch  of  undulating  ground,  we  entered  a 
large  prairie  almost  bare  of  trees,  and  which  stretched  for 
ten  or  twelve  miles  in  front  of  us.  The  ground  was 
smooth,  but  furrowed  at  intervals  by  little  tortuous 


198  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


trenches,  a  few  inches  in  depth,  hollowed  out  by  the  rain 
in  the  wet  season,  hut  dry  at  all  other  times. 

“  The  land  having  no  decided  slope,  these  various  fur¬ 
rows  did  not  unite  in  veins;  hut  ended  in  little  ponds  or 
miniature  lakes,  which  were  scattered  over  the  plain,  Tike 
the  spots  in  the  skin  of  a  panther,’  to  borrow  a  compar¬ 
ison  from  Strabo.  But  at  the  time  when  I  was  crossing, 
all  the  little  conduits  were  dried  up,  and  there  was  not  a 
drop  of  water  to  be  got  from  them.  I  had  two  dogs  with 
me,  who  were  suffering  cruelly  from  thirst.  Scarcely  did 
they  perceive  the  first  of  these  furrows  from  a  distance, 
than  they  scampered  towards  it  full  gallop,  descending 
unhesitatingly  in  the  direction  in  which  the  water  had 
once  flowed.  After  a  run  of  a  few  hundred  yards  they 
reached  the  dried-up  pond,  and  after  a  short  examination 
of  its  solid  bottom  returned  to  me,  evidently  disappointed. 
The  same  thing  went  on  during  the  whole  journey  across 
the  plain,  which  lasted  till  the  close  of  day.  In  this  space 
of  time  the  dogs  explored  between  forty  and  fifty  furrows. 
They  invariably  recognized  them  from  a  long  way  off, 
rushed  eagerly  towards  them,  and  followed  the  dried-up 
course  to  its  end.  One  could  not  maintain  in  these  cir¬ 
cumstances,  that  the  dogs  were  led  to  these  lakes  by  the 
smell,  or  by  the  effluvium  of  the  water,  because  there  was 
not  a  drop  to  be  found.  They  were  not  guided  by  the 
character  of  the  vegetation,  for  there  was  not  a  single  tree 
to  he  seen  either  along  the  furrows  or  by  the  ponds. 
There  was  not  even  any  particular  kind  of  grass  growing, 
so  short  a  time  does  moisture  last  there.  The  dogs  in  this 
case  were  guided  by  general  ideas,  seconded  to  a  certain 
degree  by  experience,  and  of  a  very  simple  kind  no  doubt; 
hut  in  our  conceptions  of  these  furrows,  of  their  origin, 
and  of  their  use,  they  and  I  evidently  reasoned  in  the  same 
manner. 

“  I  must  add,  moreover,  that  this  observation  is  by  no 
means  an  isolated  one.  I  have  simply  chosen  it  as  a  par¬ 
ticular  case  which  is  safe  from  various  objections.  I  have 
many  times  seen,  not  only  dogs,  but  horses,  mules,  oxen, 
and  goats  begin  to  look  for  water  in  places  where  they 
have  never  been  before.  They  must  have  been  guided  by 


GENERALIZATION. 


199 


general  principles,  since  they  went  to  ponds  or  streams 
which  were,  at  the  time,  entirely  dried  up.”  1 

In  default  of  words,  the  actions  and  gestures  of  children 
will  often  indicate  to  us  what  we  are  warranted  in  infer¬ 
ring  concerning  their  power  of  generalization.  For  in¬ 
stance,  a  baby  of  eight  months  amuses  himself  for  several 
hours  a  day  seated  on  a  carpet  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
One  of  his  favorite  toys  is  a  tin  box  which  he  likes  because 
of  its  metallic  sound,  but  especially  because  of  its  opening, 
into  which  it  is  his  great  delight  to  stuff  anything  that  will 
go  in  or  wont  go  in !  He  has  discovered  that  many  of  his 
little  possessions,  such  as  a  pail,  a  little  cart,  a  bottle,  a 
trumpet,  etc.,  etc.,  have  this  capacity  for  holding  other 
things,  and  so,  when  any  fresh  toy  is  given  to  him,  he  in¬ 
stantly  begins  to  examine  it,  to  see  if  it  has  an  opening. 

The  other  day  he  got  hold  of  a  dressed  doll ;  and  he  tried 
to  stuff  a  smaller  doll,  a  piece  of  bread,  and  a  little  phial 
between  its  legs.  Another  time  the  stopper  of  a  bottle  was 
given  to  him,  and  because  it  was  transparent  he  persisted 
in  thinking  there  must  be  an  opening  at  one  end ;  and  he  tried 
to  put  several  things  into  this  supposed  hole.  One  of  his 
favorite  tricks  is  to  put  his  forefinger  in  the  eyes  of  people 
who  hold  him  on  their  knees;  and  this  makes  him  laugh 
very  much.  In  short,  he  has  acquired  a  general  idea  of 
this  quality  of  an  opening  and  a  capacity  for  holding  things, 
which  he  has  discovered  in  so  many  objects,  and  which  he 
now  seeks  for  in  everything. 

A  child  of  eight  months  old  always  made  starts  of  de¬ 
light  at  the  sight  of  any  young  or  pretty  person.  Must 
there  not  have  been  in  this  case  a  distinction  between  a 
pleasant  and  an  unpleasant  appearance,  which  the  child 
seized  at  first  sight  in  all  persons  who  came  under  his  no¬ 
tice?  This  again  was  the  germ  of  a  general  idea.  The 
same  child,  when  a  fortnight  older,  manifested  a  desire  for 
solid  food,  which  he  always  recognized  as  such  amongst 
many  other  things;  whether  it  were  bread,  cheese,  butter, 
fruit,  meat,  or  sugar,  he  would  lean  towards  it,  stretching 


1  Houzeau,  Etudes  sur  les  Facultes  Mentales  des  Animaux,  t.  i.,  pp. 
264,  etc. 


200  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


out  his  hand  and  making  a  vaguely  articulate  sound  like 
“  wroua  he  never  did  this  when  asking  for  his  feeding 
bottle  or  his  mother’s  breast.  At  nine  months  old,  the 
sight  of  a  dog,  a  cat,  a  chicken,  or  a  bird  would  send  him 
into  raptures ;  and  he  would  hold  out  his  arms,  and  look 
significantly  at  the  person  who  was  caressing  the  animal, 
as  much  as  to  say  that  he  wanted  to  go  close  up  to  it.  His 
movements  for  begging,  and  afterwards  for  showing  his 
joy,  always  finished  up  with  the  repetition  of  the  syllables 
appa  !  appa  !  app'a  !  Thus  he  had  a  distinct  idea,  which, 
up  to  a  certain  point,  was  also  a  general  one,  of  solid  food 
and  of  animal,  although  he  did  not  yet  designate  any  of  the 
individuals  comprised  in  these  two  classes  of  objects  by 
special  names  corresponding  to  the  special  qualities  he  did 
not  fail  to  remark  in  them.  At  eleven  months  the  excla¬ 
mation  expressing  a  general  idea  was  changed  into  ah  ! 
and  a  few  of  his  specific  ideas  were  expressed  by  words  of 
his  own  which  need  not  be  quoted  here. 

At  the  time  when  every  one  admits  that  children  possess 
general  ideas,  that  is,  when  they  can  express  a  good  many 
of  them  by  words,  we  can  observe  in  them  other  general 
ideas  which  are  not  expressed  by  words.  A  little  child  of 
thirteen  months  knows  very  well  how  to  say  matxje 
[marcher)  when  he  wants  some  one  to  take  his  hand  and 
lead  him  about.  But  if  his  wish  is  refused,  he  knows  how 
to  fall  back  on  his  own  resources;  he  leaves  the  person 
who  is  holding  him,  slips  down  on  the  ground,  and  crawls 
along  on  his  stomach.  Whether  he  wants  to  go  straight 
along  or  to  make  detours,  to  go  up  stairs,  or  even  down 
stairs  (which  he  does  less  adroitly,  and  not  without  tum¬ 
bles),  crawling  is  his  general  means  of  getting  along  by 
himself. 

If  when  he  is  seated  on  the  ground,  the  fancy  suddenly 
seizes  him  to  get  up  by  leaning  on  his  two  hands,  once 
upright  on  his  legs,  he  is  very  often  much  embarrassed  by 
his  vertical  position ;  and  he  will  entreat  the  first  comer 
for  a  hand,  whether  it  is  a  person  he  knows  or  not.  Here 
again  is  a  clear  idea  of  a  general  means  of  getting  out  of 
his  difficulty — to  take  hold  of  the  hand  of  another  person. 
This  same  child,  who  designates  by  the  word  peau-peau 


GENERALIZATION. 


201 


( chapeau )  every  species  of  headgear,  bonnet,  hat,  night-cap, 
etc.,  etc.,  always  puts  on  his  head  any  object  of  the  kind 
that  is  within  his  reach.  There  are  also  a  certain  number  of 
things  which  he  mistakes  for  this  article  of  clothing,  as  for 
instance  his  nurse’s  basket,  a  paper-bag,  a  dish-cover,  a 
lamp-shade,  a  handkerchief,  and  other  objects,  whose 
shape  recalls  more  or  less  the  idea  of  an  object  suitable  for 
covering  the  head.  This  general  idea  has  thus  assumed 
extensive  dimensions  in  his  mind. 

From  all  these  facts,  which  each  one  can  multiply  for 
himself  at  pleasure,  we  infer  the  existence  in  quite  young 
children  of  general  ideas  independent  of  language.  When 
any  particular  characteristic  has  struck  them  vividly  in  a 
certain  number  of  objects,  it  begins  to  fix  itself  in  their 
intelligence  in  the  shape  of  an  abstraction,  that  is  to  say, 
of  a  very  clear  idea  but  no  longer  associated  with  the  pre¬ 
cise  idea  of  certain  objects.  It  is  a  sort  of  analogy 
summed  up  in  a  vivid  conception  which  every  object  more 
or  less  similar  is  capable  of  reviving.  When  a  means  of 
fixing  this  conception  is  acquired,  it  assumes  definite  limits, 
either  contracting  or  expanding,  and  becomes  a  true  gen¬ 
eral  conception.  Words  are  only  a  more  simple  and 
efficacious  means  of  recall  than  the  pure  sensation  which 
was  formerly  wont  to  re-awaken  this  idea.  Whatever  may 
have  been  said  about  it,  language  is  more  an  instrument 
for  defining  and  fixing  than  for  forming  general  ideas. 

Let  us  observe  a  child  generalizing  after  our  example, 
but  in  his  own  fashion,  with  the  words  which  we  have 
taught  him.  To  know  things,  is  to  distinguish  the  prin¬ 
cipal  boundaries  which  separate  them  into  different  classes. 
To  know  a  language,  is  not  only  to  know  words,  but 
things,  to  have  at  one’s  finger’s  end,  ready  for  daily  use, 
all  the  observations,  and  experiences  which  language  com¬ 
prises.  We  can  clearly  see  the  part  that  words  play  in  the 
working  of  thought,  by  noticing  the  irrepressible  tendency 
of  children,  I  do  not  say  to  classify,  but  at  once  to  con¬ 
nect  a  known  term  with  the  various  objects  they  see. 
With  their  unconscious  and  happy  audacity  they  often 
give  us  most  interesting  examples  of  inferior  generaliza¬ 
tion.  Eeason  in  children  is,  generally  speaking,  nothing 


202  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

more  than  comparison  as  little  abstract  as  possible.  The 
town  of  Tarbes  has  a  pretty  public  garden  which  bears  the 
name  of  the  donor.  A  child  from  Bordeaux,  twenty 
months  old,  said  to  us:  “There  is  &  jar  din  Massey  at  Bor¬ 
deaux.”  A  child  fifteen  months  old  has  a  wooden  horse 
christened  dacla.  He  only  needed  one  single  example,  one 
single  resemblance,  to  apply  this  word  dada  to  one  single 
horse  (in  .which  he  was  somewhat  aided  by  his  parents), 
and  afterwards  he  would  apply  it  instantly  to  every  horse 
he  saw.  Here  again  there  are  only  particular  similarities, 
not  conceptions  that  can  be  called  general.  In  the  middle 
of  a  court- yard  filled  with  all  sorts  of  animals,  the  child 
saw  some  chickens,  which  he  called  koko,  from  the  name 
of  his  canary  and  turtle-dove;  he  saw  some  ducks  and 
geese  swTimming  in  a  pond,  and  he  reduced  them  to  one 
and  the  same  species — the  duck;  a  swan  also  is  to  him  a 
duck.  The  broad  lines  of  classification  are  already  defi¬ 
nitely  acquired  by  the  age  of  three;  and  a  single  point  of 
resemblance  suffices  for  the  first  rough  outline,  an  enumer¬ 
ation  (of  instances)  far  from  complete,  for  subsequently 
extending  and  confirming  them. 

There  is,  I  think,  some  subtlety  in  the  following  mode 
of  reasoning:  “If  it  is  true  that  the  distinct  general  idea 
is  posterior  to  confused  particular  ideas,  conversely  it  may 
be  true  to  say  that  the  confused  general  idea  is  anterior  to 
the  distinct  particular  idea.  Thus  the  idea  of  man,  in  so 
far  as  it  is  characterized  by  the  abstract  and  classical 
definition  of  a  reasonable  animal,  or  by  the  zoological 
definition,  presupposes  doubtless  a  comparison  between 
many  individual  men;  but  the  confused  sense  of  what  there 
is  in  common  between  all  men  is  pre-existent  to  the  defi¬ 
nite  distinction  of  individuals:  for  instance,  it  takes  a 
child  some  time  to  distinguish  his  father  from  other  men; 
it  takes  a  dog  some  time  to  distinguish  his  master.  It  has 
been  said  with  reason,  that  the  faculty  of  generalizing  is 
a  characteristic  of  intelligence:  it  may  also  be  said,  that 
the  faculty  of  individualizing  is  no  less  essential  a  sign.”  1 
I  accept  the  conclusion,  but  I  make  my  reserve  as  to  the 


1  P.  Janet,  Traite  Elementaire  de  Philosophie,  p.  165. 


GENERALIZATION. 


203 


premises.  When  a  child  applies  the  word  papa  to  all  the 
individuals  who  resemble  liis  father  generally,  he  only 
sees  in  them  a  particular  resemblance.  The  author  above 
quoted  sees  in  this  an  absolutely  generalizing  tendency, 
and  he  confirms  his  opinion  by  adding:  “One  does  not 
find  that  little  children  generalize  the  word  mamma  like 
the  word  papa.  This  no  doubt  is  owing  to  the  fact  that, 
being  more  with  their  mother  than  with  their  father,  they 
individualize  her  better.”  Might  not  one  reason  for  this 
difference  (which  must  not  be  exaggerated)  he,  the  habit 
that  the  mother  and  the  women  about  a  child  have  of 
making  particular  demonstrations  at  every  appearance  of 
the  father?  “See,  there’s  papal  Where  is  papa?  Look  at 
papa.  Say  ‘How  do  you  do’  to  papa,”  etc.  Thus  in¬ 
structed,  the  child  sees  papa  everywhere,  and  when  he 
begins  to  speak  brings  out  the  word  papa  at  all  moments, 
in  season  and  out  of  season.  Moreover,  are  there  no  ex¬ 
amples  of  children  generalizing  the  word  “mamma”  in 
quite  as  elementary  a  fashion  as  the  word  “papa”?  Here 
is  one,  at  any  rate.  A  child,  three  years  and  five  months 
old,  had  returned  with  his  parents  from  Tarbes,  where  he 
had  spent  more  than  a  month.  At  the  beginning  of  the 
journey,  he  asked  every  ten  minutes  where  were  his  aunts 
and  his  grandmother?  What  were  they  saying?  When 
would  he  go  back  to  Tarbes?  Afterwards  he  attracted  the 
attention  of  a  lady,  whom  he  amused  by  singing  to  her 
“St.  Anthony,”  “Little  Ida,”  “Marlborough,”  and  the 
“Little  Bird.”  Then  he  became  confidential  towards  her. 
He  told  her  that  he  had  five  mammas;  first  of  all  his  mother, 
then  Aunt  P.,  Aunt  V.,  Grandmamma  of  Tarbes,  and 
Grandmamma  Louise;  the  mother  of  the  latter,  the  great 
grandmother,  was  not  a  mamma.  “But,”  said  the  lady  to 
him,  “Aunt  V.  is  not  your  mamma!”  “Oh,  yes;  because 
she  takes  care  of  me.”  Then  he  began  to  imitate  a 
grocer,  his  mother’s  grocer,  the  only  one  he  had  ever  seen. 
Grandmamma  Louise  had  given  him  a  little  grocer’s  shop. 
He  said  that  he  had  sold  a  great  many  goods.  “M.  Fran¬ 
cois  and  Mme.  Collette”  (the  heroes  of  a  little  story  that 
had  been  told  to  the  child)  “often  have  colds,  and  then 
they  come  to  buy  the  little  black  bonbons  of  me.”  Here 


204  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


everything  is  particular — the  matter,  the  form,  and  even 
the  incidents,  which  may  vary  according  to  the  characters 
of  the  children,  the  vivacity  of  their  imagination,  the  edu¬ 
cation  they  receive,  and  above  all  the  examples  set  them. 

We  can  now  affirm  that  children  do  not  begin,  either  by 
general  conceptions  or  by  terms  which  they  transfer  from 
the  individual  to  the  general,  in  virtue  of  that  primitive 
tendency  to  generalization  which,  according  to  some  philo¬ 
sophers,  is  exercised  before  any  individual  discrimination. 
Max  Midler  has  said,  and  M.  Taiue  has  repeated  after  him, 
that  there  are  no  general  ideas  without  words.  “There  is 
in  every  language,”  says  Max  Muller,  “a  certain  layer  of 
words  which  may  be  called  purely  emotional.  It  is  smaller 
or  larger  according  to  the  genius  and  history  of  each 
nation,  but  it  is  never  quite  concealed  by  the  later  strata 
of  rational  speech.  Most  interjections,  most  imitative 
words  belong  to  this  class.  They  are  perfectly  clear  in 
their  character  and  origin,  and  it  could  never  be  main¬ 
tained  that  they  rest  on  general  concepts.  But,  if  we 
deduct  that  inorganic  stratum,  all  the  rest  of  language, 
whether  among  ourselves  or  among  the  lowest  barbar¬ 
ians,  can  be  traced  back  to  roots,  and  every  one#of  these 
roots  is  the  sign  of  a  general  concept.  This  is  the  most 
important  discovery  of  the  science  of  language. 

These  concepts  are  formed  by  what  is  called  the  faculty  of 
abstraction,  a  very  expressive  term,  which  designates  the 
action  of  decomposing  sensuous  intuitions  into  their -con¬ 
stituent  parts,  of  stripping  each  part  of  its  momentary  and 
concrete  character.  .  .  .  How  is  this  work  of  the 

human  intellect,  the  forming  and  handling  of  concepts, 
carried  on?  Are  concepts  possible,  or,  at  least,  are  con¬ 
cepts  ever  realized,  without  some  outward  form  or  body? 
I  say  decidedly,  No.  If  the  science  of  language  has  proved 
anything,  it  has  proved  that  conceptual  or  discursive 
thought  can  be  carried  on  by  words  only.  There  is  no 
thought  without  words,  as  little  as  there  are  words  with¬ 
out  thought!”  1 


1  Lectures  on  Darwin’s  "Philosophy  of  Language.”  See  Fraser’s  Maga - 
zine,  1873,  pp.  36  and  49. 


GENERALIZATION. 


205 

M.  Taine,  who  quotes  this  passage  from  Mas  Muller, 
adopting  the  opinions  it  expresses,  has  considerably  en¬ 
larged  on  this  interesting  subject.  In  a  chapter  of  his 
book  on  “Intelligence,”  where  he  has  collected  together 
observations  of  the  same  nature  as  those  of  Tiedemann,  he 
speaks  appreciatively,  as  a  free  disciple  of  Locke,  of  a  cer¬ 
tain  number  of  facts  relative  to  the  formation  of  general 
ideas  in  children.  He  attributes  the  origin  of  general  ideas 
simultaneously  with  general  terms,  or  on  the  occasion  of 
the  latter,  to  an  operation  special  to  man,  which  he  desig¬ 
nates  under  the  vague  term  of  tendency  to  generalization. 
The  examples  which  he  has  brought  forward  in  support  of 
his  theory,  will  lead  us  to  very  different  conclusions  from  his. 

“The  formation  of  these  general  names  may  be  nar¬ 
rowly  watched;  with  little  children,  we  take  them  in  the 
act.  We  name  to  them  such  and  such  a  particular  de¬ 
termined  object;  and,  with  an  instinct  of  imitation  com¬ 
mon  to  them  with  monkeys  and  parrots,  they  repeat  the 
name  they  have  just  heard.  Up  to  this  point  they  are 
but  as  monkeys  and  parrots;  but  here  there  appears  a 
delicacy  of  impression  which  is  special  to  man.  We  pro¬ 
nounce  the  word  papa  before  a  child  in  its  cradle,  at  the 
same  time  pointing  out  his  father.  After  a  little  he  in 
his  turn  lisps  the  word,  and  we  imagine  that  he  under¬ 
stands  it  in  the  same  sense  that  we  do,  or  that  his  father’s 
presence  only  will  recall  the  word.  Not  at  all.  When 
another  person, — that  is,  one  similar  in  appearance,  with 
a  long  coat,  a  beard,  and  a  loud  voice, — enters  the  room, 
he  calls  him  also  papa.  The  name  was  an  individual  one ; 
he  has  made  it  general.  In  our  case,  it  is  applicable  to 
one  person  only;  in  his,  to  a  class.  In  other  words,  a 
certain  tendency  corresponding  to  what  there  is  in  common 
to  all  persons  in  long  coats,  with  beards  and  loud  voices, 
is  aroused  in  him  in  consequence  of  the  experiences  by 
which  he  has  perceived  them.  This  tendency  is  not  what 
you  were  attempting  to  excite,  it  springs  up  spontaneously. 
In  it  we  have  the  faculty  of  language.  It  is  wholly 
founded  on  the  consecutive  tendencies  which  survive  the 
experience  of  similar  individuals,  and  correspond  precisely 
to  what  they  have  in  common. 


206  THE  FIE  ST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


We  see  these  tendencies  continual!)'  at  work  in  children, 
and  leading  to  results  differing  from  ordinary  language;  so 
that  we  are  obliged  to  correct  their  spontaneous  and  too 
hasty  attempts.  A  little  girl,  two  years  and  a  half  old,  had 
a  blessed  medal  hung  at  her  neck.  She  had  been  told, 
“C’est  le  bon  Dieu,”  and  she  repeated,  “C’est  le  bo  Du.” 
One  day,  on  her  uncle’s  knee,  she  took  his  eye-glass,  and 
said,  “C’est  le  bo  Du  de  mon  oncle.”  It  is  plain  that  she 
had  involuntarily  and  naturally  constructed  a  class  of 
objects  for  which  we  have  no  name;  that  of  small  round 
objects,  with  a  handle,  through  which  a  hole  is  pierced, 
and  hung  round  the  neck  by  a  ribbon;  that  a  distinct  ten¬ 
dency,  corresponding  to  these  four  general  characters,  and 
which  we  do  not  experience,  was  formed  and  acting  in 
her.  A  year  afterwards,  the  same  child,  who  was  being 
asked  the  names  of  different  parts  of  her  face,  said,  after 
a  little  hesitation,  on  touching  the  eyelids,  “These  are  the 
eye-curtains.”  A  little  boy,  a  year  old,  had  traveled  a  good 
deal  by  railway.  The  engine,  with  its  hissing  sound  and 
smoke,  and  the  great  noise  of  the  train,  struck  his  atten¬ 
tion;  and  the  first  word  he  learnt  to  pronounce  Avas  fafer 
(cliemin  de  fer ).  Henceforward,  a  steamboat,  a  coffee-pot 
with  spirit-lamp — everything  that  hissed,  or  smoked,  or 
made  a  noise,  was  a  fafer.  Another  instrument  to  which 
children  have  a  great  objection  (excuse  the  detail  and  the 
word — I  mean  an  enema)  had,  naturally  enough,  made  a 
strong  impression  on  him.  He  had  termed  it,  from  its 
ncise,  a  zizi.  Till  he  was  two-and  a-half  years  old,  all 
long,  hollow,  slender  objects, — a  scissor-sheath,  a  cigar- 
tube,  a  trumpet, — -were  for  him  zizi;  and  he  treated  them 
all  with  distrust.  These  two  reigning  ideas,  the  zizi  and 
the  fafer,  were  two  cardinal  points  of  his  intelligence,  and 
from  them  he  set  out  to  comprehend  and  name  other 
things.  1 

Let  us  call  by  their  real  name  these  tendencies  corre¬ 
sponding  to  ivliat  there  is  in  common  between  similar  individ¬ 
uals  or  objects:  they  are  embyro,  if  not  complete  acts  of 
generalization.  There  is  a  simpler,  and  to  my  thinking,  a 


1  Tains,  L' Intelligence.  See  Eng.  Trans,  by  F.  D.  Haye,  p.  15. 


GENERALIZATION. 


207 


more  accurate  manner  of  interpreting  the  facts  quoted 
above,  as  well  as  the  analogous  facts  which  I  myself  have 
been  able  to  bring  forward.  Objects  which  are  similar 
awaken  the  same  ideas  iu  the  intelligence  of  children.  At 
first,  in  consequence  of  their  feeble  capacity  for  analysis, 
these  ideas  of  similarity  are  particular ;  but  by  dint  of  fre¬ 
quently  seeing  similar  things,  simultaneously  or  success¬ 
ively,  they  perceive  in  them  distinctive  characteristics,  or 
differences;  they  cease  to  confound  one  with  the  other; 
they  no  longer  take  every  gentleman  with  a  beard  for 
papa,  all  hissing  objects  for  fafer,  or  every  round  object 
for  Bo-Du;  yet  they  nevertheless  retain  the  idea  of  resem¬ 
blance  which  they  had  grasped  at  first,  and  which  is 
re-awakened  at  every  fresh  sight  of  the  objects,  since,  while 
now  distinguishing  them  clearly  from  one  another,  they 
still  call  them  all  by  the  same  name. 

Here  language  is  much  behind  thought :  if  the  common 
term  corresponds  to  the  general  conception,  the  particular 
or  individual  idea  has  not  yet  its  equivalent  in  the  child’s 
vocabulary.  A  certain  color,  a  certain  form,  have  suddenly 
made  him  aware  of  the  presence  of  some  sort  of  food,  and 
he  pronounces  the  general  term  by  which  he  expresses 
the  idea  of  good  to  eat;  but  at  the  second  glance  he  has 
distinguished  cake  from  bread,  potatoes  from  butter;  thus 
from  the  general  idea  there  have  been  detached  particular 
ideas,  which  he  does  not  know  how  to  express.  When  he 
has  set  terms  to  express  them  by,  the  first  general  terms 
will  merge  more  and  more  into  the  particular,  and  he  will 
invent  or  acquire  other  terms  by  which  to  express  the 
former  general  ideas,  which,  on  their  part,  will  go  on  en¬ 
larging. 

The  capacity  of  children  to  generalize  before  they  can 
speak,  seems  to  me  to  be  precisely  established  by  what 
M.  Taine  calls  this  sudden  tendency  to  generalize  terms 
which  to  us  are  individual.  Such  marvellous  virtue  in 
words  would  be  contrary  to  the  law  of  intellectual  evolu¬ 
tion.  If  general  ideas  did  not  exist,  in  however  rudi¬ 
mentary  a  degree,  before  the  terms  which  are  their  cor¬ 
relatives,  I  should  see  in  the  latter  an  effect  without  a 
cause,  the  less  producing  the  greater,  the  sign,  the  thing 


208  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


signified.  When  you  show  a  child  his  father,  and  say  to 
him,  papa,  you  supply  him  with  a  word,  which  associates 
itself  in  his  mind  with  an  already  existing  idea  of  a  form 
of  such  and  such  a  kind.  But  this  idea  was  not  particu¬ 
lar  in  the  child’s  mind;  he  had  already  seen  this  form 
before,  and  he  sees  it  nearly  every  day;  it  is  a  vague  idea 
of  resemblance,  which  is  not  abstract  to  him,  but  which 
is  re-awakened  at  the  sight  of  all  similar  objects.  The 
words  papa,  j'afer,  etc.,  signify  to  him  qualities  which  have 
struck  him,  not  in  one  object  only,  but  in  several.  If  the 
child  designates  by  the  same  name  all  similar  objects  after 
having  seen  a  certain  number  of  them,  and  without  taking 
One  for  the  other,  it  is  incontestably  shown  that  analogy 
touches  closely  on  generalization,  and  this  for  the  reason 
that  analogy  of  ideas  tends  towards  a  certain  generality. 
Words  progress  like  ideas  and  by  means  of  ideas. 

Generalization  is,  in  fact,  only  more  or  less  extended 
similarity.  It  has  not  yet  become  (even  when  they  begin 
to  exercise  the  function  of  speech  easily)  that  superior 
faculty  of  applying  an  abstract  idea  of  quality  to  a  whole 
group  of  objects  compared  among  themselves.  The  steps 
which  lead  them  to  these  distinct  ideas  of  kind  and  species 
will  he  very  slow  and  gradual. 

A  child  of  three  years  old,  of  highly  developed  intelli¬ 
gence,  could  not  at  all  understand  words  signifying  species 
or  class.  “What  does  that  mean,  this  animal  is  of  the 
same  kind?”  he  persisted  in  asking  me.  I  could  only  get 
out  of  the  difficulty  by  answering:  “It  means,  that  the 
animal  is  almost  the  same.  ”  He  understood  that  the  one 
was  like  the  other,  and  that  was  all.  There  is  nothing, 
moreover,  in  which  we  find  so  much  difference,  even 
among  adults,  as  in  general  ideas,  especially  the  way  in 
which  they  are  understood.  Take  ten  persons  at  hazard, 
and  mention  in  their  presence  the  terms  virtue,  humanity, 
force,  law,  nature,  quantity,  quality,  or  any  other  general 
term;  ask  each  person  the  sense  which  he  or  she  attaches 
to  these  words  of  every-day  usage,  and  you  will  he  aston¬ 
ished  at  the  differences  there  will  be  in  the  answers;  and 
the  reason  is,  that  the  greater  the  power  of  thought,  the 
more  experience  and  analysis  intervene  in  our  intellectual 


SEASONING. 


20‘J 


operations,  and  the  more  general  terms  and  ideas  will 
define  themselves,  whether  by  contracting  or  expanding. 
Bo-Da  will  gradually  cease  to  be  the  name  of  all  round 
hanging  objects,  papa  of  all  men  with  coats,  beards,  etc.; 
and  in  proportion  as  objects  assume  their  individual 
names,  or  the  names  considered  as  such,  they  will  take  their 
place  with  the  corresponding  ideas  in  other  general  cate¬ 
gories.  The  analogies  first  noticed  become  less  striking, 
differences  are  more  and  more  clearly  perceived;  classes 
are  divided  into  species,  species  into  varieties,  and  indi¬ 
vidualities  into  singularities.  There  is,  as  it  were,  a  pro¬ 
gressive  acuteness  in  the  intellectual  vision,  which  at  first 
grasps  great  masses  only,  afterwards  the  more  important 
details,  and  finally  the  small  minutiae,  and  which  corre¬ 
sponds  to  our  generalizations  successively  ascending  and 
descending. 


V. 


REASONING. 

“The  process  of  judgment  has  then  for  its  special  char¬ 
acteristic,  according  as  it  advances,  the  privilege  of  extend¬ 
ing  itself;  of  determining  the  reaction  of  the  surrounding 
cerebral  elements;  of  searching,  to  some  extent,  into  the 
archives  of  the  past;  of  associating  former  notions  with 
those  of  the  present;  of  creating  partial  local  judgments, 
established  h  priori  as  results  of  the  inner  experience  of 
the  individual;  and  of  permitting  us,  at  a  given  moment, 
to  juxtapose  and  agglomerate  partial  judgments — to  agglu¬ 
tinate  them,  in  the  form  of  arguments,  into  a  complete 
judgment,  which  resumes  them  all  in  a  true  synthesis.”1 

If,  then,  reasoning  consists  in  the  fact  that  the  presenta¬ 
tion  of  certain  phenomena  (which  already  have  their 
equivalent  in  different  psychic  states  produced  by  past 
experiences)  excites  these  psychic  states  to  reproduce  them¬ 
selves,  either  wholly  or  in  part;  in  other  words,  if  reason- 


i  Luys,  Lp  Cervrau  et  ses  Fonctions.  See  Eng.  Trans.  (Internat. 
Scient.  Series),  i>i>.  293,  294. 

15 


210  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

ing  is  nothing  else  than  a  series  of  consecutive  judgments 
co-ordinated  according  to  the  law  of  habitual  associations, 
it  is  evident  that  both  little  children  and  animals  are  able 
to  reason. 

A  child  of  seven  months  has  already  very  well  associated 
in  its  mind  the  idea  of  the  movements  of  mastication  with 
that  of  the  agreeable  sensations  resulting  therefrom. 
When  he  sees  his  nurse  lift  any  food  to  her  mouth,  and 
sees  her  lips  and  jaws  moving,  he  judges  that  she  is  eating; 
that  what  she  is  eating  is  good  to  her  taste,  and  would  he 
the  same  to  his;  and  he  knows  by  experience  that  his 
nurse  would  probably  let  him  share  this'  pleasure  if  he 
asked  her  in  an  irresistible  manner,  i.  e.,  if  he  cried,  or 
pretended  to  he  going  to  cry — and  he  acts  accordingly. 
We  can  see  here  the  origin  both  of  the  analogical  reason¬ 
ing  by  which  he  formed  this  chain  of  consecutive  judg¬ 
ments,  and  of  the  deductive  reasoning  which  made  him 
apply  these  experiences  which  he  had  generalized  to  the 
present  circumstances.  Before  continuing  the  examination 
of  the  faculty  of  reasoning  in  little  children,  let  us  study 
its  analogous  phenomena  in  animals. 

A  young  dog,  about  six  months  old,  had  been  given  to 
me.  In  order  to  form  in  him  habits  of  cleanliness,  which 
his  former  master  had  neglected  to  teach  him,  I  used  to 
whip  him  every  time  that  he  made  a  mess  in  a  room.  Soon 
the  idea  of  punishment  becoming  associated  with  that  of  a 
particular  need,  excited  in  him  the  idea  of  acting  in  such  a 
way  as  to  prevent  punishment.  He  took  to  waking  me  up 
every  night,  either  by  scratching  vigorously  at  the  door  of 
my  room,  or,  if  this  did  not  have  the  desired  effect,  by 
setting  up  a  piteous  howling.  All  the  judgments  which  he 
performed  in  this  instance  were  linked  together  by  such 
close  bonds  that  we  have  only  to  put  them  into  words  to 
see  in  them  the  elements  of  perfect  reasoning.  Let  us  try 
to  utter  his  thoughts.  “  My  master  whips  me  soundly  when 
I  make  my  bedroom  dirty  (first  inductive  reasoning).  But 
when,  having  opened  the  door,  I  go  out  for  a  little  while 
into  the  court  below,  he  is  pleased  with  me,  and  instead  of 
punishing  me,  he  pats  me  and  praises  me  (second  induc¬ 
tion).  Now,  when  I  make  a  loud  howling,  he  wakes  up 


REASONING. 


211 


and  opens  the  door  for  me  (third  induction).  Come  then, 
I’ll  bark  with  all  my  might,  wake  him  up,  and  I  shall  not 
be  beaten.”  (Deductive  reasoning.) 

The  following  fact  is  not  less  conclusive.  I  borrow  it 
from  the  immense  store  of  observations  and  quotations  of 
M.  JEtouzeau,  who  was  a  witness  of  the  incident.  “It  is 
known  that  the  milk-sellers  of  Brussels  employ  dogs,  har¬ 
nessed  to  little  carts,  to  go  every  morning  the  round  of 
their  customers.  These  dogs  draw  up  of  their  own  accord 
at  the  different  houses ;  but  in  this  there  is  nothing  more 
than  memory.  One  day  in  1854,  I  was  walking  along  the 
Rue  Saint- Gery,  and  I  happened  to  follow  one  of  these 
dogs  drawing  its  cart,  while  some  steps  behind  him  fol¬ 
lowed  the  milkwoman.  A  carriage  with  two  horses  was 
also  going  along  the  street,  at  the  same  pace,  side  by  side 
with  the  milk-cart.  This  carriage  formed  a  constant  ob¬ 
stacle  on  the  dog’s  left  hand,  as  it  was  between  him  and 
the  line  of  houses,  one  of  which  he  had  to  stop  at.  The 
problem  in  his  mind  was,  whether  to  cross  in  front  of  the 
horses,  or  to  let  them  pass  on  and  cross  over  behind  them. 
The  dog  went  on  walking  at  his  usual  pace,  casting  alter¬ 
nate  despairing  glances  at  his  mistress  and  at  the  door  of 
his  customer.  The  expression  of  the  animal’s  face  said 
unmistakably:  ‘  What  shall  I  do  now?  ’  The  interroga¬ 
tion  was  so  plain  and  positive  that  the  milkwoman  not 
only  understood  and  answered  it,  hut  she  solved  the  prob¬ 
lem  in  the  manner  that  the  dog’s  look  seemed  to  suggest. 
She  begged  the  coachman  to  stop  his  horses  for  a  minute, 
and  the  dog  then  instantly  crossed  over  in  front  of  them 
and  drew  up  at  the  right  door.  Any  one  who  has  wit¬ 
nessed  a  similar  scene  cannot  deny  that  dogs  are  capable 
of  reflection.”1 

“At  the  time  of  the  great  inundation  of  the  Loire,  in 
1836,  the  water  spread  over  a  garden  where  two  nightin¬ 
gales  had  built  a  nest  in  the  hedge.  The  floods  mounted 
higher  and  higher,  and  threatened  to  submerge  the  young 
family;  for  the  little  ones,  but  newly  hatched,  were  not  yet 
capable  of  flying.  Under  these  circumstances,  we  might 


1  Houzeau,  Facultes  Mentales  des  Animaux,  vol.  ii.,  p.  195.  • 


212  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


assert  that  the  old  birds  must  have  been  able  to  reason  in 
order  to  understand  the  increasing  danger.  But,  unques¬ 
tionably,  there  was  something  more  than  automatic  action 
when  the  birds  carried  the  nest  bodily  off,  and  placed  it 
at  some  distance,  out  of  reach  of  the  waters.  This  is,  in 
fact,  what  the  parent  birds  did;  each  took  one  side  of  the 
nest  by  the  beak,  and  with  a  swift  and  balanced  flight  the 
nightingales  accomplished  the  journey  and  saved  their 
little  ones  from  the  threatened  drowning.” 

I  will  quote  another  example  of  a  different  kind,  also 
about  birds.  “Iliad  received  a  present  of  a  beautiful  male 
grossbeak,”  writes  Audubon;  “but  the  bird  was  in  such  an 
exhausted  state  that  one  would  have  said  he  was  simply  an 
inanimate  mass  of  feathers.  However,  with  careful  feed¬ 
ing,  he  soon  recovered,  and  became  so  tame  that  he  would 
eat  out  of  my  hand  without  showing  the  least  sign  of  fear. 
To  make  captivity  bearable  to  him,  I  allowed  him  to  fly 
about  my  bed-room,  and  on  getting  up  in  the  morning, 
my  first  care  always  was  to  give  him  some  seed.  It  hap¬ 
pened,  however,  that  for  three  consecutive  days  I  lay  in 
bed  later  than  usual,  and  then  the  bird  came  to  wake  me 
by  fluttering  on  to  my  shoulder  and  demanding  his  usual 
meal.  The  third  day  I  let  him  flutter  about  for  some  time 
before  appearing  to  be  awake.  But  he  no  sooner  saw  that 
he  had  attained  his  end,  than  he  retired  to  the  window 
and  waited  patiently  till  I  had  got  up.  ” 

Thus  we  perceive  in  animals  a  variety  of  intellectual 
operations  and  intelligent  actions  which  cannot  be  set 
down  to  instinct.  The  examples  above  quoted  do  not  be¬ 
long  to  the  class  of  habits  common  to  a  whole  species, 
which  we  might  consider  as  dependent  on  the  organic 
constitution,  but  they  are  individual  manifestations,  under 
exceptional  circumstances,  and  varying  with  external 
changes.  It  is  human  reasoning,  with  all  its  independ¬ 
ence  of  automatism.  We  must,  however,  be  careful, 
whether  as  regards  human  beings  or  animals,  not  to  attrib¬ 
ute  too  much  to  spontaneity  pure  and  simple.  Are  we 
not  constantly  startled  by  the  sudden  apparition  of  some 
faculty  long  buried  in  the  depths  of  hereditary  automat¬ 
ism?  and  may  not  certain  exceptional  actions  performed 


REASONING. 


213 


by  animals  proceed  from  the  same  mysterious  source? 
Are  inundations,  for  instance,  such  rare  events  in  the  life 
of  the  species,  that  they  may  not  have  determined  in  birds 
up  to  a  certain  point  the  semi-instinctive  faculty  of  trans¬ 
porting  their  nests  by  the  help  of  their  beaks?  In  like 
manner,  in  the  case  of  the  child  above  mentioned,  who 
watched  his  nurse  eating  with  envious  eyes,  there  must 
have  been  combined  with  the  conscious  operations  of  the 
intellect,  with  the  process  of  pure  reasoning,  certain  reflex 
judgments  and  movements  which  were  the  result  either  of 
individual  or  of  transmitted  habits.  Might  not  the  mere 
sight  of  the  movements  of  the  jaws  excite  in  a  child  un¬ 
conscious  and  involuntary  movements,  such  as  opening  the 
mouth,  holding  out  the  arms,  leaning  forward,  and  even 
crying?  It  is  very  difficult  to  determine  how  much  be¬ 
longs  to  unconscious  and  how  much  to  conscious  cerebra¬ 
tion,  in  this  aggregate  of  apparently  rationally  co-ordin¬ 
ated  organic  sentiments,  ideas,  and  impulses.  It  is  cer¬ 
tain,  however,  that  consciousness  enters  largely  into  the 
matter.  In  fact,  as  we  have  already  said,  all  instinctive 
movements,  all  reflex  actions,  come  in  course  of  time  to 
be  consciously  realized  by  their  agent,  provided  they  are 
important  enough  in  themselves,  or  that  by  quickly  recur¬ 
ring  reiteration  they  are  brought  out,  so  to  say,  in  relief. 
In  adults  we  see  the  consciousness  suddenly  roused  by 
great  crises  or  theatrical  climaxes,  whereas  ordinary  events 
leave  them  indifferent.  In  like  manner,  if  children  are 
encouraged  to  reproduce  these  movements,  which  at  first 
have  passed  unnoticed  by  them,  or  to  perform  them  with 
varying  or  increased  intensity  or  complexity,  their  atten¬ 
tion  is  sure  to  be  attracted  sooner  or  later,  as  is  proved  by 
the  fact  that  they  will  modify  these  actions  under  the 
counteracting  influence  of  particular  impressions  or  senti¬ 
ments. 

A  little  child  of  ten  months  wished  very  much  to  hold  in 
his  arms  a  kitten  which  his  elder  sister  was  playing  with 
on  her  lap ;  he  held  out  his  arms  towards  the  animal,  look¬ 
ing  alternately  at  it  and  at  his  sister,  and  uttering  cries 
which  sounded  like  hiccoughing.  His  sister  did  not  grant 
his  desire,  not  wishing  to  subject  her  pet  kitten  to  th$ 


214  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


awkward  hugging  of  the  baby.  The  latter  then  began  to 
scream.  His  sister  remained  calm  and  impassive.  The 
baby  then  became  more  urgent,  shook  his  whole  body  vio¬ 
lently,  struggled,  writhed,  sobbed  and  howled.  His  sister 
said  to  him:  “Be  quiet,  you  naughty  child,  you  shall  not 
have  pussy,  you  will  hurt  him;”  but  the  child’s  passion 
only  increased  in  fury,  and  finally  reached  such  a  pitch  of 
intensity  that  his  consciousness  quite  disappeared  in  the 
hurly-burly  of  moral  and  physical  excitement,  and  he 
ended  by  forgetting  the  cause  of  his  rage  in  the  rage 
itself.  He  went  on  screaming  and  holding  out  his  arms 
without  knoAviug  what  he  was  doing,  for  the  kitten,  terri¬ 
fied  by  this  turbulent  scene,  had  escaped  and  hidden  behind 
a  bed.  To  calm  her  little  brother,  the  sister  called  the 
kitten  back  and  took  it  to  him ;  he  instantly  became  quiet, 
but  after  a  few  seconds  he  began  to  cry  again ;  the  sister 
then  kissed  and  petted  him,  and  tried  to  make  him  stroke 
the  kitten.  When  at  last  he  was  a  little  tranquillized,  he 
took  no  more  notice  of  the  kitten,  but  asked  his  sister 
for  a  bonbon.  Here  we  see  the  fluctuating  and  capricious 
procedure  of  a  child’s  judgments  and  movements,  which, 
though  co-ordinated  by  the  law  of  habit,  are  shifted  and 
changed  in  a  thousand  unexpected  ways  at  the  beck  of 
intervening  impressions  and  associations  of  ideas  which 
alternately  present  them  to  and  withdraw  them  from  the 
consciousness. 

If  automatism  passes  back  to  consciousness  in  certain 
determined  cases,  consciousness  is  equally  ready  to  relapse 
into  automatism.  A  child  of  two  years  was  accustomed 
to  see  his  mother’s  lodger  (Mme.  Jillet.)  re-enter  the  house 
nearly  every  day  on  her  return  from  market.  Whenever 
he  saw  his  mother  come  back  with  a  basket  on  her  arm  he 
used  to  call  out,  “Where  Me  Gile?  Me  want  see  Gile. 
Call  me  Gile.”  Are  not  all  the  acts  of  judgment  expressed 
by  these  baby  phrases  linked  together  in  such  a  way  as  to 
constitute  a  chain  of  concrete  but  effectual  reasonings? 
Well,  then,  the  child  has  already  acquired  the  habit  of 
repeating  these  phrases  several  times  a  day,  and  no  matter 
at  what  hour,  and  quite  mechanically,  like  a  parrot,  every 
time  he  sees  his  mother  take  up  a  basket.  What  was 


KEASONING. 


215 


rational  lias  become  automatic,  by  dint  of  constant  repe¬ 
tition.  I  observed  other  examples  of  the  same  nature  in 
this  child.  When  the  lady  in  question  comes  to  pay  her 
morning  visit  after  marketing,  the  child  runs  up  to  her, 
hangs  on  to  her  gown,  and  says:  “Maman  dear  Gile;”  then 
he  pulls  open  a  coiner  of  the  basket,  forages  about  with 
his  hands  among  the  provisions,  and  pulling  out  no  matter 
what,  says,  “Want  this,  I  do;  I  say,  I  want  this.”  All 
these  natural  operations  of  judgment  happen  in  so  constant 
an  automatic  order,  that  one  would  suppose  that  the  child 
had  no  consciousness  of  them. 

But  here  are  two  examples  of  a  contrary  nature,  fur¬ 
nished  by  the  same  child,  from  which  we  shall  see  the 
intervention  of  consciousness  in  a  collection  of  judgments 
and  movements  performed  chiefly  in  a  reflex  manner.  His 
father  is  a  workman  who  often  goes  out  fishing,  and  the 
child  is  accustomed  to  eating  fried  fish.  The  other  day, 
the  father,  who  had  returned  home  after  the  hour  for  the 
family  supper,  was  eating  some  fish  by  himself.  “Me 
want  fish,  papa,  me  want  fish.”  The  father  turned  a  deaf 
ear  for  a  few  moments.  “Me  want  fish,”  again  said  the 
little  one,  pulling  his  father’s  sleeve  and  trying  to  attract 
his  attention.  The  father  went  on  eating  without  speak¬ 
ing  a  word  (up  to  this  point  all  the  child’s  words,  as  well 
as  its  actions  and  gestures,  had  expressed  ideas  automat¬ 
ically  associated  and  co-ordinated) ;  but  finding  his  efforts 
fruitless,  he  suddenly  got  under  the  table,  and  pulling  his 
father’s  leg  began  again :  “Me  want  fish,  not  pussy  have 
fish,  me  want  fish.”  He  had  suddenly  reflected  that  the 
cat  generally  went  under  the  table ;  and  by  a  sudden  in¬ 
spiration  of  his  consciousness,  which  made  him  imagine 
and  execute  movements  quite  new  to  him,  he  assumed  the 
character  of  a  cat. 

The  mother  of  this  child  has  accustomed  him  to  call 
Madame  Jillet,  towards  twelve  o’clock,  and  to  ask  her  to 
throw  down  the  newspaper,  in  order  to  save  her  the 
trouble  of  coming  down-stairs.  The  child  discharges  this 
duty  very  solemnly,  and  will  not  let  any  one  else  do  it  for 
him,  “  Me  Gile,  give  paper!”  He  repeats  this  formula 
with  very  little  variation  until  the  paper  is  thrown  out  of 


216  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


the  window.  One  day  his  brother  wanted  to  call  out  for 
the  paper  instead  of  him.  The  child  became  crimson 
with  rage;  his  rights  were  being  invaded.  He  set  off 
screaming  with  all  his  might:  “Me  Gile,  give  paper!  ” 
and  then,  turning  to  his  brother,  “  You  not  to  call  out, 
mustn’t  call  out,  me  cry  out,  me  Gile!  ”  The  paper  fell 
at  this  moment,  and  the  elder  boy  picked  it  up;  the 
younger  one  instantly  snatched  it  from  him,  saying: 
“Give  paper,  me  take  mamma.”  Two  or  three  innova¬ 
tions  had  here  crept  into  his  accustomed  routine;  but  he 
returned  to  this  immediately,  shaking  the  paper  which  had 
fallen,  and  saying,  “  Not  dirty;  ”  this  had  become  an  almost 
unconscious  habit  with  him. 

It  is  in  this  faculty  of  assimilating  past  experiences  with 
new  ones,  of  continually  extending  the  chain  of  induc¬ 
tions  and  deductions,  that  children  and  animals  show 
endless  power  of  invention  and  resource  of  imagination — 
a  power  which  adults,  more  accustomed  to  act  on  ready¬ 
made  arguments,  acquired  or  learnt,  than  to  construct 
new  ones,  might  envy  them.  A  propos  of  this  example, 
we  may  observe  that  Locke  and  Mill  have  with  reason 
maintained  that  there  is  a  mode  of  reasoning  founded 
on  the  particular. 

M.  L.  Ferri,  in  his  interesting  study  on  Les  Trois  Pre¬ 
mieres  Annees  d'une  Enfant ,l  has  introduced  some  observa¬ 
tions  which  confirm  this  opinion. 

Young  children  are  incessantly  giving  proofs  of  their 
force  of  invention,  and  of  the  elasticity  of  their  reasoning 
power.  All  their  intellectual,  moral,  and  physical  progress, 
their  games,  their  caresses,  their  little  tricks,  all  bear  the 
mark  of  the  practical  and  ingenious  nature  of  their 
reasoning  powers.  We  will  quote  a  few  more  instances 
selected  out  of  thousands,  and  of  the  kind  which  every 
one  may  have  observed,  without  however  noticing  or  ap¬ 
preciating  them  systematically,  and  with  a  view  to  the 
right  direction  to  be  given  to  infant  faculties.  The 
word  direction  does  not  rightly  express  my  meaning. 
Everything  bursts  forth  so  spontaneously  in  the  evolution 


1  In  the  Filosophia  delle  Scuole  Italiane ,  Oct.  1879. 


liEASONING. 


217 


of  young  human  beings,  the  experiences  they  are  contin¬ 
ually  accumulating  respond  with  such  marvellous  activity 
and  diversity  to  the  excitations  and  necessities  of  acci¬ 
dental  circumstances,  that  the  great  art  of  education,  even 
at  the  most  tender  age,  seems  to  me  to  consist  rather  in 
attentive  and  watchful  neutrality  than  in  partial  and 
domineering  interference.  Woe  to  the  child  cast  in  the 
mold  of  conventional  routine  and  maxims,  however  wise 
and  specious  a  form  they  may  assume!  “  Let  be,”  “  Let 
pass,”  “  Let  live,”  and  do  not  force  or  repress,  except 
when  absolutely  necessary,  or  you  run  the  risk  of  hinder¬ 
ing  the  diffusion  of  the  sap  destined  to  produce,  suc¬ 
cessively  and  simultaneously,  precious  flowers  and  exquisite 
fruit. 

Here  are  some  more  examples  from  the  category  of 
children  who  can  already  speak  and  walk,  and  thus 
reveal  in  a  more  evident  manner  the  workings  of  the  un¬ 
seen  phenomena  which  are  going  on  within  them.  The 
child  I  am  about  to  speak  of  is  two  years  and  one  month 
old.  When  his  father,  whose  night  duties  oblige  him  to 
sleep  rather  late  in  the  morning,  seems  to  him  to  have 
slept  too  long,  he  tries  to  wake  him  up,  if  left  alone  with 
him  for  a  moment,  either  by  pulling  off  the  counterpane 
or  making  a  noise  with  a  chair,  or  by  getting  up  on  the 
chair  and  shaking  his  father’s  head.  The  other  day, 
mounted  on  the  chair,  he  took  his  father  by  the  neck,  and 
then  pinched  and  pulled  his  ear.  The  father  pretended  to 
be  asleep,  in  order  to  see  what  would  happen.  At  last  the 
child  lifted  up  one  of  his  father’s  eyelids  and  cried  out, 
“Daddy,  isn’t  it  light?”  This  was  a  device  that  the 
father  would  have  to  guard  against  in  future.  Another  time 
the  father  had  just  come  in,  and  was  waiting  for  supper; 
the  child  was  watching  his  mother’s  preparations;  she  had 
just  filled  a  plate  with  soup  and  left  the  room  for  a 
moment.  The  child  profited  by  her  absence  to  take  up 
the  plate  in  both  hands;  and,  notwithstanding  its  weight, 
he  carried  it  to  his  father,  saying  to  him:  “Monsieur 
papa,  mangez  soupe.”  This  action  was  altogether  new, 
and  caused  a  burst  of  laughter  from  both  parents.  The 
Monsieur  papa  was  the  most  comical  part  of  the  entertain- 


218  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


meat.  Sometimes,  when  Lis  father  pretends  to  be  angry, 
the  boy  soon  guesses,  from  his  expression,  and  the  curve 
of  his  lip,  and  other  familiar  signs,  that  the  anger  is  only 
feigned,  and  he  calls  out,  laughing,  “  Not  angry,  papa  play, 
not  angry.”  This  child  has  taken  to  a  trick  of  slily  steal¬ 
ing  something  from  his  neighbor’s  plate  at  meals.  When 
he  has  transferred  the  bit  of  stolen  meat  or  pudding  to  his 
own  plate,  he  pats  and  presses  it  up  against  the  rest,  so 
that  it  should  not  be  seen.  This  little  trick  has  already 
procured  him  several  scoldings,  which  have  not  yet  quite 
cured  him  of  it.  He  knows  that  his  brother,  who  is  past 
five,  and  goes  to  school,  does  not  like  him  to  touch  his 
playthings,  because  he  disarranges  and  spoils  them.  But, 
no  sooner  is  his  brother  gone,  than  he  goes  off  to  the 
corner  where  the  box  of  toys  is  hidden,  or  manages  by 
coaxing  and  tears  to  get  them  from  his  indulgent  mother. 
But  he  is  on  the  qui  vive  all  the  time,  and  often  runs  to 
the  top  of  the  staircase  to  see  who  is  coming  up;  and  the 
instant  he  recognizes  his  brother’s  step  he  begins  with 
both  hands  to  bundle  all  the  toys  pell-mell  into  the  box, 
and  to  put  them  back  in  their  place.  Although  it  is  indis¬ 
putable  that  in  many  cases  adult  animals  reason  more 
promptly  and  justly  than  do  children  from  one  to  four 
years,  or  even  older,  this  is  assuredly  an  example  of  con¬ 
trivance  superior  to  that  which  is  ordinarily  shown  in  the 
most  intelligent  animals. 

As  children  grow  in  strength  and  experience,  their  judg¬ 
ment  gains  in  accuracy,  their  reason  becomes  stronger, 
more  precise,  and  more  subtle, — more  ‘abstract,  so  to  say, 
— and  the  verbal  expression  of  their  trains  of  reasoning, 
which  relate  generally  to  their  desires  and  fears,  acquires 
fluency  and  logic. 

When  I  was  a  child  of  five  years  I  had  abused  my  right 
of  strongest,  and  taken  away  from  a  little  girl  cousin,  two 
years  younger,  a  magnificent  pear  which  our  grandmother 
had  given  her.  The  tears  and  screams  and  despair  of  the 
poof  little  victim  may  be  imagined.  She  related  what  had 
happened  very  eloquently  and  circumstantially  to  my 
grandmother,  and  the  latter  tried  to  appease  her  by  giving 
her  a  fine  bunch  of  grapes.  When  I  came  out  of  the  hid- 


REASONING. 


219 


ing  place  where  I  had  been  enjoying  my  stolen  fruit,  the 
little  girl  had  not  yet  come  to  the  end  of  her  grapes  or  of 
her  grief.  My  grandmother  scolded  me  very  severely,  and 
then  addressing  my  cousin-  “  Never  mind,  my  child,”  she 
said,  “  I  will  fetch  you  a  very  nice  pear,  and  your  cousin 
shall  not  have  one.”  This  promise,  and  my  disconcerted 
air,  restored  my  cousin’s  cheerfulness,  and  she  ran  off 
merrily  to  her  play.  An  hour  passed  hy,  and  I  had  not 
left  the  house;  probably  I  was  waiting  to  see  whether  our 
grandmother  would  have  the  courage  to  fulfil  her  threat, 
and  to  give  my  cousin  a  pear  in  my  presence  without 
giving  me  one.  The  little  girl,  on  her  part,  had  not  for¬ 
gotten  the  promise  either;  she  kept  coming  back  every 
ten  minutes,  fidgeting  round  the  old  lady,  and  saying 
pretty  coaxing  things,  asking  if  she  could  do  anything  for 
her,  talking  to  her  about  flowers,  vegetables,  etc.,  but  the 
word  pear  never  passed  her  lips.  She  knew  by  experience 
that  our  grandmother  did  not  like  importunity,  especially 
in  regard  to  things  to  eat,  and  she  avoided  displeasing  her 
hy  appearing  too  eager  for  the  promised  fruit.  At  last, 
however,  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  she  screwed  up  all 
her  courage,  and  nerving  herself  for  all  risks,  came  jump¬ 
ing  into  the  room  from  the  court-yard,  and  laying  a 
coaxing  hand  on  her  grandmother’s  shoulder,  said:  “It 
will  be  very  nice,  won’t  it?  ”  My  grandmother  understood 
very  well  what  this  astute  remark  meant,  but  purposely 
made  her  repeat  it;  and  the  child,  thus  encouraged,  went 
even  further:  “  It  will  he  nice,  grandmamma,  the  pear!  ” 
My  grandmother  was  charmed  with  this  proceeding,  and 
calling  to  my  grandfather,  who  was  in  an  adjoining  room, 
asked  him  if  he  had  time  to  go  into  the  garden.  “  Will 
you  go  and  look  for  a  fine  pear  which  I  have  promised  this 
little  girl?”  My  grandfather  went  into  the  garden,  and 
my  cousin  accompanied  him,  holding  his  hand;  I  too 
made  one  of  the  party,  hut  keeping  at  a  respectful  distance 
behind  my  grandfather.  My  cousin  had  a  beautiful  pear 
given  her;  and  she  was  so  much  engrossed  with  the  pleas¬ 
ure  of  eating  it,  that  she  forgot  to  say  that  I  was  not  to 
have  one.  So  we  all  three  enjoyed  our  pears  together, 
and  then  we  had  a  good  game  among  the  trees  in  the 


220  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


garden  with  our  grandfather — two  little  children  and  one 
big  one!” 

Children  are  thus  capable  of  reasoning  from  their  very 
cradles;  if  it  were  not  so,  they  would  never  acquire  the 
power :  according  to  the  saying  of  Laromiguiere :  “  Be- 
duced  to  pure  sensations,  which  they  could  neither  disen¬ 
tangle  nor  compare  nor  combine  nor  analyze,  they  would 
be  destitute  of  all  ideas,  and  would  never  take  rank  among 
intelligences.” 1  But  the  natural  logic  of  young  children  is 
very  limited  in  its  grasp  and  very  uncertain  in  its  methods. 
If  in  the  sphere  of  analogical  relations  it  goes  straight  to 
the  end,  as  if  by  an  imaginative  glance;  if  in  the  rather 
more  complex  relations  of  particular  similitudes, which  lead 
towards  induction,  it  follows  the  course,  sometimes  tol¬ 
erably  regular,  of  psychic  associations;  and  if  it  applies 
somewhat  resolutely  some  of  these  analogical  and  inductive 
conceptions  to  new  cases,  it  is  the  primitive,  summary,  and 
irreflective  method  which  suits  children  best.  This  method 
is  confounded  with  the  most  elementary  acts  of  dis¬ 
crimination  and  classification ;  often  it  is  only  a  similitude 
applied  to  a  passing  fact,  the  most  simple  adaptation  of 
movements  to  representations.  Many  of  the  above  exam¬ 
ples  are  proofs  of  this.  But  it  is  a  satisfaction  to  me  to  see 
my  own  interpretations  confirmed  by  observations  analo¬ 
gous  to  mine.  Darwin,  although  he  does  not  fix  the  pos 
itive  beginning  of  association  of  ideas  in  children  before 
the  age  of  five  months,  nevertheless  notices  a  sign  of  prac¬ 
tical  reasoning  in  his  little  son  at  the  age  of  a  hundred 
days,  when  he  slipped  his  hand  along  the  finger  held  out 
to  him  in  order  to  introduce  it  into  his  mouth.2  A  child 
who  cannot  yet  speak,  but  is  beginning  to  walk,  stumbles 
in  passing  from  the  bare  floor  to  the  carpet.  A  moment 
comes  when  it  occurs  to  him  to  raise  his  foot  to  a  sufficient 
height  to  step  over  the  border  of  the  carpet  without  stum¬ 
bling.  Here  is  a  middle  term  inserted  between  the  end 
conceived  and  the  point  of  departure.3  A  little  girl  nine- 


1  Discours  sur  la  Langue.  du  Raisonnement,  p.  185. 

2  Biographical  Sketch  of  a  Little  Child.  Scientific  Review,  July 
1877 

•'  See  the  Revue  Philo sophigue,  April,  1880,  on  the  above-cited  paper, 
by  L.  Ferri. 

r 


REASONING. 


221 


teen  months  old  wanted  to  have  my  hat,  which  was  placed 
on  a  table  too  high  for  her  to  reach :  impatience,  screams, 
tears.  I  get  up  and  give  it  to  her.  Her  hrst  impulse  is  to 
put  it  on  her  head;  then,  after  a  few  minutes,  during 
which  she  seemed  to  be  thinking,  she  went  to  fetch  her 
own  hat,  which  was  on  a  chair  within  her  reach,  and  pre¬ 
sented  it  to  me  with  a  most  serious  expression.  Was  it  a 
mode  of  thanking  me,  or  an  invitation  to  me  to  take  her 
out?  It  matters  little;  but  it  was  evidently  analogical  or 
even  inductive  reasoning.1 

These  are  the  modes  of  reasoning  in  which  children  ex¬ 
cel,  even  after  they  have  begun  to  talk.  They  seem  less 
sure  of  themselves  in  those  which  they  attempt  at  our  dic¬ 
tation,  on  our  system,  and  by  means  of  the  analogies  and 
inductions  which  are  imposed  on  them  by  our  language. 
They  judge  often  very  wrongly,  from  simple  similitudes 
and  forced  analogies.  “If  they  dislike  a  person  very  much 
every  one  else  who  at  all  resembles  that  person  will  be  re¬ 
pugnant  to  them ;  they  would  readily  lay  down  this  axiom : 
All  persons  of  such-and-guch  an  aspect  are  bad.  A  pre¬ 
mature  and  unscientific  induction,  yet  nevertheless,  at 
bottom,  of  the  same  nature  as  those  of  savants .”  2  It  is 
not  indeed  very  certain  whether  most  of  the  trains  of  rea¬ 
soning  that  children  prefer  and  succeed  in  best  from  two  to 
three  years  old,  generally  surpass  the  average  reasoning  of 
adult  animals.  I  had  a  cat  which,  from  the  time  she  was 
a  year  old,  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  her  dinner  with  me. 
The  instant  dinner  was  ready  she  used  to  begin  frisking 
about,  from  me  to  the  table  and  from  the  table  back  to  me, 
and  try  by  persuasive  looks  to  make  me  come  to  it.  Do 
we  find  any  superior  element  in  the  reasoning  attributed 
by  M.  Egger  to  his  son?3  “From  the  age  of  eighteen 
months,  as  soon  as  meals  were  ready  he  used  to  summon 
all  the  absent  members  of  the  family  and  drag  them  by 


1  Paul  Rousselet,  Pedagogie  a  V  Usage  de  V  Enseignement  Primaire, 

p.  246. 

2  Henri  Marion,  Lecons  de  Psychologie  appliquee  a  V  Education , 
p.  340. 

3  Observations  et  Reflexions  sur  V  Deveioppement  de  V  Intelligence  et 
du  Langage  chez  les  Enfants. 


222  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


their  clothes  to  join  the  meal.  ...  At  twenty-eight 
months  I  observed  the  scope  of  his  reasoning  powers  ex¬ 
tend.  He  now  guessed  that  any  person  who  took  up  his 
hat  was  preparing  to  go  out,  that  in  going  out  he  would 
pass  through  the  court-yard,  and  that  he  could  see  him 
pass  there;  the  instant  any  one  takes  up  his  hat,  he  goes 
to  the  window  to  see  him  go.”  There  is  nothing  in  this, 
whatever  M.  Egger  may  think,  which  indicates  any  supe¬ 
riority  of  infant  over  animal  intelligence. 

The  faculty  of  reasoning  is  always  very  limited  in  its 
logical  scope  during  the  whole  three  years  of  which  we  are 
treating.  If  language  brings  a  child  new  elements  of  in¬ 
duction,  new  facilities,  and  especially,  under  the  example 
of  his  elders,  the  to  him  new  faculty  of  argumentation,  it 
most  often  only  serves  to  bring  out  in  relief  his  intellectual 
feebleness;  and  a  very  useful  result  this  is,  both  for  us  and 
for  the  child — for  us,  who  are  thus  enabled  better  to  con¬ 
trol  the  child’s  progress,  and  for  the  child,  who  lias  thus 
the  opportunity  to  take  stock  of  himself,  and  to  realize  the 
limits  and  the  scope  of  his  budding  intelligence.  No  one 
has  better  demonstrated  than  M.  Egger  these  characteris¬ 
tic  facts  of  intellectual  weakness  in  children  who  so  often 
astonish  us  by  the  precocity  of  their  reason  and  the  sagac¬ 
ity  of  their  judgment.  The  instances  which  we  borrow 
from  him  have  moreover  a  double  interest,  psychological 
and  moral  observation  being  closely  bound  up  with  the  lex¬ 
icological  considerations  which  they  embody. 

“The  younger  sister  of  Emile  said  to  me:  ‘  I  shall  carry 
Emile  when  lie  gets  little.  ’  She  had  noticed  that,  of  two 
people,  the  biggest  only  can  carry  the  smallest;  she  has 
also  been  told  that  she  will  become  big  .  .  .  the  con¬ 

ditional  and  the  future  are  confused  together  in  her  mind.  ” 
This  observation  is  of  real  value  from  all  points  of  view, 
and  lean  say  as  much  for  the  two  following:  “The  re¬ 
versing  of  relations  is  very  habitual  with  children  at  this 
period  of  life.  At  four  years,  and  even  at  five  years  of  age, 
a  child  will  take  correlative  ideas  one  for  the  other,  like 
that  of  lending  and  borrowing.  ‘Will  you  borrow  your  seal 
tome?’  He  said  to  me  one  day:  ‘lam  very  generous 
to-day,’  meaning  to  say :  ‘  You  have  been  very  generous  to 


EBEOES  AND  ILLUSIONS. 


223 


me.’  ”  We  must  however  add  that  these  infantine  confu¬ 
sions  take  place  rather  in  words  than  in  things.  Let  us 
study  the  natural  limits  and  the  most  common  deficiencies 
of  infant  reasoning  in  circumstances  almost  independent 
of  the  admixture  of  speech. 


VI. 


THE  ERRORS  AND  ILLUSIONS  OP  CHILDREN. 

Children  are  subject  to  the  same  kinds  of  error  and  illu¬ 
sion  as  adults;  the  only  difference  between  them  is,  that 
particular  kinds  of  error  are  more  natural  and  unavoidable 
in  the  former,  owing  to  the  imperfect  development  of  their 
faculties,  which  nevertheless  from  the  beginning  of  life 
tend  to  exercise  themselves  according  to  the  specific  laws 
of  human  thought.  Apart  from  this  difference,  we  find  in 
children  all  the  most  common  errors,  false  inductions  ap¬ 
plied  to  the  impressions  of  the  various  senses,  the  para¬ 
logisms  occasioned  by  precipitation  and  prejudice,  and 
above  all,  what  we  still  call,  after  the  logicians  of  Port 
Royal,  sophisms  of  amour-propre,  of  interest  and  passion. 
To  point  out  some  few  of  these  different  errors,  often  anal¬ 
ogous  in  children  and  adults,  will  not  be  a  work  of  idle 
curiosity — it  will  throw  a  flood  of  light  on  the  operations 
of  the  infant  mind  and  afford  us  knowledge  as  useful  for 
us  who  live  in  the  life  of  our  children,  as  for  the  children 
whom  we  have  to  prepare  for  life. 

Plato  has  indicated  very  poetically  and  accurately  the 
principal  source  of  our  errors,  viz.,  ignorance:  “Let  us 
suppose  our  soul  to  be  a  sort  of  dove-cot  for  birds  of  every 
species;  some  are  gregarious,  others  that  consort  in  small 
numbers,  some  that  fly  by  themselves  through  all  the 
others,  this  way  or  that  as  it  may  happen.  By  these 
birds  we  must  conceive  that  different  kinds  of  knowledge 
are  meant.  While  we  are  children  the  dove-cot  is  empty; 
but  every  time  that  we  acquire  a  piece  of  knowledge  we  let 
it  loose  in  the  dove-cot.  When  we  want  to  ‘recapture’  one 
of  these  pieces  of  knowledge,  it  may  often  happen  that  we 
get  hold  of  one  by  mistake  instead  of  the  other;  as  for  in- 


224  THE  FIRST jTHREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


stance,  if  we  were  seeking  the  total  of  seven  and  five,  we 
might  get  hold  of  eleven  instead  of  twelve — our  ring-dove, 
as  it  were,  instead  of  our  rock  pigeon.  But  in  this  case 
it  would  he  knowledge  that  would  make  us  ignorant.”  1 
However  subtle  these  last  remarks  may  be,  we  may  accept 
their  imagery  and  profound  meaning.  It  is,  in  fact,  on 
the  strength  of  a  little  knowledge  that  we  judge  rightly  or 
wrongly;  and  the  reasonings,  whether  conscious  or  intu¬ 
itive,  which  lead  us  to  error  and  to  false  judgments  apply 
to  the  simplest  phenomena  of  the  mind  and  even  to  our 
perceptions.  We  shall  find  numerous  examples  of  the 
truth  of  this  amongst  children. 

Let  us  first  examine  the  errors  which  the  exercise  of  our 
senses  gives  rise  to.  The  illusions  of  sight  have  to  do  with 
the  color,  the  localization  in  space,  the  form,  the  dimensions, 
the  distance,  the  nature,  the  number  of  all  objects  which  are 
illumined  by  light.  The  sensation  of  light  produces  the 
notion  or  judgment  of  color;  the  reality  appears  to  us 
under  colors  with  which  we  ourselves  invest  it  by  virtue  of 
anterior  judgments.  What  a  time  it  must  take  a  young 
child  to  accustom  itself  to  recognize  the  colors  belonging 
to  the  different  surrounding  objects,  susceptible  as  they 
are  of  a  thousand  variations  and  transformations,  accord¬ 
ing  to  their  reciprocal  actions  on  each  other,  the 
action  on  them  of  different  surroundings  and  accord¬ 
ing  to  their  distance  and  position.  A  child  of  six  months 
will  gaze  fixedly  at,  and  then  stretch  out  his  hands  en- 
treatingly  towards,  the  flattened  sphere  of  a  door-handle 
which  lie  mistakes  for  the  suspended  ball  with  which  his 
nurse  has  amused  him  in  his  cradle.  He  will  take  a  flat 
disk  with  gradations  of  light  and  shade  for  a  globe  of  uni¬ 
form  color;  as,  later  on,  he  will  mistake  a  sphere  for  a 
square.  At  this  age,  however,  his  most  frequent  error  is 
to  take  all  the  surfaces  he  sees  for  bulks.  He  wants  to 
hold  in  his  hands  everything  of  which  the  brightness  at¬ 
tracts  him;  and  the  reason  of  this  is,  that  owing  to  his 
limited  knowledge  of  perspective,  he  does  not  judge  of  the 
distance  of  far-off  objects  in  comparison  with  the  relative 


1  Thesetetus. 


EEEOES  AND  ILLUSIONS. 


225 


distances  of  the  objects  which  surround  him:  his  scale  of 
height  and  length  is  entirely  circumscribed  by  the  environs 
of  his  own  person  and  the  few  places  well  known  to  him, 
like  his  room  or  some  parts  of  his  room. 

As  early  as  ten  months,  or  a  year,  it  seems  to  us  as  if 
children  were  enchanted  by  the  solemn  appearance  of  the 
sun  or  moon,  when  setting  or  rising;  this,  however,  is  an 
illusion  on  our  part.  A  child  who  is  not  in  the  habit  of 
contemplating  these  luminaries  at  other  times,  does  not 
invest  them  at  rising  and  setting  with  the  voluminous  ap¬ 
pearance  which  we  see  in  them  on  these  occasions.  I 
have  even  remarked  that  a  child’s  attention  is  scarcely  at¬ 
tracted  by  the  brightness  (much  more  relative  than  real) 
of  the  stars:  their  scintillation,  to  eyes  which  only  see 
them  as  near  objects,  is  very  trifling.  Children  are  con¬ 
stantly  making  strange  mistakes  respecting  the  height,  the 
distance,  and  the  form  of  numbers  of  things.  Mountains, 
forests,  horizons,  which  we  see  and  reckon  to  be  eight  or 
ten  miles  from  us,  to  a  child  even  of  fifteen  months  old, 
will  seem  no  larger  or  more  distant  than  such-and-such  a 
neighboring  tree  or  house.  Far-off  objects  seem  to  him  as 
smaller  objects  near  by,  while  near  objects  he  almost  in¬ 
variably  thinks  to  be  much  larger  than  their  real  size. 

A  little  later  on,  when  a  child  is  four  or  five  years  old, 
for  instance,  his  sense  of  perspective,  being  now  a  little 
more  developed,  will  lead  him  into  quite  opposite  errors. 
I  remember  that  when  I  was  five  or  six  years  old,  I  ac¬ 
companied  my  mother  and  an  uncle  to  Bagneres-de- 
Bigorre.  We  had  been  for  a  walk  on  Mount  Bedat,  whose 
base  is  planted  with  trees,  shading  winding  paths.  My 
uncle  having  left  us  for  a  moment,  disappeared  amongst 
the  trees,  and  we  did  not  see  him  till  he  reappeared  on  a 
footpath  a  little  higher  up.  I  thought  he  was  an  immense 
way  off,  but  I  have  since  verified  that  he  could  not  have 
been  more  than  a  hundred  yards  distant.  It  is  in  conse¬ 
quence  of  psychical  (and  not  optical)  errors  that  young 
children  judge  very  falsely  of  real  forms,  of  movement, 
and  of  the  distance  of  objects,  when  the  object  is  some 
little  way  off.  If  they  are  moving  along  in  a  carriage  or  a 
boat,  they  go  on  for  a  long  time  believing  that  the  trees 
15 


226  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


and  houses  they  pass  are  moving;  when  they  see  a  long 
avenue,  they  think  that  the  trees  join  and  touch  each 
other.  If  two  buildings  at  different  distances  off  appear 
to  them  of  the  same  height,  they  think  they  are  at  the 
same  distance,  and  of  the  same  height.  As  for  rather 
distant  objects,  they  are  not  capable  of  estimating  their 
real  size  by  comparing  their  apparent  size  with  the  dis¬ 
tance  at  which  they  are.  The  utmost  they  can  do,  even  at 
two  years  old,  is  to  estimate  the  distance,  dimension,  and 
movement  of  near  objects,  within  the  reach  of  eye  and 
hand.  But  it  has  been  noticed  that  the  more  intelligent 
children  are,  and  the  more  they  are  accustomed  to  games 
and  exercises  which  call  forth  strength,  skill,  and  quick¬ 
ness  of  sight,  the  greater  is  their  certainty  of  visual  ap¬ 
preciation. 

The  most  frequent  illusions  of  sight, — normal  illusions 
i.  e.,  not  pathological  ones, — are  those  which  relate  to  the 
relief  of  objects,  to  the  confusion  of  what  is  visible  with 
what  can  be  held  in  the  hand,  and  to  the  number  of 
objects  within  the  field  of  vision.  Children  refuse  for  a 
long  time  to  believe  in  the  solidity  of  objects.  They  feel 
them  all  round  and  all  over  to  find  some  cavity;  and  they 
try  to  put  all  sorts  of  things  one  inside  the  other.  A  child 
of  fifteen  months  who  was  very  fond  of  hoisting  himself 
up  to  the  second  landing  of  the  staircase  at  home,  on  an¬ 
other  staircase  stopped  at  the  first  landing  because  the 
landing  was  so  large  that  he  thought  the  staircase  ended 
there.  There  is  no  doubt  that  children,  even  after  a 
certain  number  of  experiences,  will  be  very  puzzle-pated 
in  making  distinctions,  which  we  determine  at  first  sight, 
between  such  things  as  the  ledge  of  a  chimney-piece,  a 
roof,  a  portion  of  a  wall,  the  facing  of  a  bridge,  and  the 
plane  surfaces  which  are  contiguous  to  them.  We  can 
also  well  understand  that  a  child,  even  of  three  years  old, 
and  who  has  some  idea  of  concrete  numerical  quantities, 
will  yet  often  make  mistakes  in  estimating  the  number  of 
objects  presented  to  him.  Is  it  not  the  same  with  adults? 
We  know  that  to  each  one  of  us  when  we  look  up  at  the 
sky  on  a  fine  starry  night  the  number  of  stars  we  seem  to 
see  is  immensely  exaggerated.  Here  we  have  an  illusion 


ERRORS  AND  ILLUSIONS. 


227 


entirely  mental.  An  illusion  of  this  kind  takes  place  in  a 
child’s  mind  when  it  wishes  to  count  a  number  of  objects 
close  to  each  other,  even  when  but  little  removed  from 
himself.  At  the  age  of  three  years  he  will  perhaps  be  able 
to  count,  up  to  four  or  five,  the  trees  which  are  quite  near 
him;  beyond  that  limit  the  number  becomes  many  trees, 
and  the  number  increases  with  the  distance  of  the  objects. 
That  which  is  true  of  numeric  magnitude  is  also  true  of 
magnitude  of  extent.  A  pool  of  water  seems  like  an  ocean 
to  an  infant  of  two  or  three,  and  the  sea  is  much,  very 
much  water;  but  this  vague  idea  of  the  indefinite  is  much 
more  limited  in  children  than  in  adults. 

The  sense  of  sight,  like  that  of  touch,  must  be  exercised 
in  recognizing  the  intrinsic  properties  of  objects;  in  other 
words,  the  intuitive  appearance  only  becomes  an  object  of 
real  cognition  when  it  is  referred  to  a  genus  which  deter¬ 
mines  the  object.  When  a  child  sees  his  nurse,  at  a  few 
yards  distance  from  his  cradle,  take  up  her  bonnet  and 
cloak,  fill  his  bottle  with  milk,  stroke  the  cat  or  dog,  etc., 
these  are  forms  of  thouijht  rather  than  visual  perceptions. 
At  the  sight  of  these  objects,  or,  let  us  rather  say,  on  the 
evidence  of  his  sight  which  brings  to  him  some  of  the 
sensations  which  cause  him  habitually  to  infer  these 
objects,  the  child  affirms  to  himself — believes  that  he  sees 
them.  By  virtue  of  judgments  and  reasonings  as  rapid 
as  they  are  unconscious,  the  child  immediately  refers  these 
tangible  qualities  to  a  known  genus;  this  is  why  the  num¬ 
ber  of  his  errors,  relatively  to  this  specific  appreciation  of 
objects,  is  in  inverse  ratio  to  his  accurate  experiences  and 
his  well-drawn  inductions. 

Finally,  we  must  not  forget  those  hallucinations,  in 
some  sort  legitimate,  which  are  produced  in  a  child’s  mind 
by  undecided  combinations  of  light  and  shade,  a  sudden 
passage  from  light  to  darkness,  the  juxtaposition  of  certain 
colors.  These  illusions  are  more  optical  than  mental ;  but 
from  the  tendency  which  all  animals  have  to  clothe  in  an 
objective  form  any  sensations  that  are  rather  vivid,  chil¬ 
dren, — and  sometimes,  too,  adults, — are  led  to  create 
chimerical  spectres,  real  phantoms,  out  of  these  optical 
spectres.  Nothing  is  more  hurtful  than  to  leave  children 


228  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


alone  in  badly-lighted  rooms,  or  to  let  them  pass  suddenly 
and  alone  from  light  into  darkness.  Some  children,  from 
a  false  conception  of  the  relations  between  light  and  dark¬ 
ness  — especially  if  the  light  flickers  at  all — have  been  the 
victims  of  terrors  resulting  from  illusions  which  have 
taken  bodily  shape.  We  should  try  to  accustom  them 
gradually  to  the  changing  effects  of  light  and  shadow,  and 
teach  them  to  produce  for  themselves  strange  effects  which 
they  will  no  longer  be  frightened  at  when  they  have  become 
accustomed  to  produce  them  themselves  and  to  laugh  at 
them.  Thus  a  child  of  two  years  used  to  beg  his  mother 
to  leave  the  candle  till  he  was  asleep,  so  that  he  might 
make  dogs,  elephants,  and  jaguars  with  the  shadow  of  his 
fingers  on  the  wall. 

The  sensations  of  hearing  give  rise  to  special  errors,  but 
not  such  numerous  or  important  ones  as  those  caused  by 
visual  sensations.  The  great  difficulty  for  children,  is  not 
so  much  to  localize  sound  in  space,  as  to  refer  it  to  its 
right  cause;  but  these  two  cases  seem  often  confounded  in 
one.  As  it  is  not  essentially  useful  for  a  child  to  make 
this  localization  in  the  absence  of  impressions  of  sight,  he 
does  not  acquire  the  power  till  rather  late,  and  after  he 
has  had  a  great  many  combined  experiences  of  hearing, 
sight,  and  touch,  and  that  his  faculty  of  comparison  has 
developed  to  some  extent.  Thus  we  see  a  child  of  a  year 
old  very  easily  mistaken  as  to  the  distance  of  a  sound 
otherwise  familiar.  Nurses  and  other  people  who  are 
about  children  will  often  amuse  themselves  by  raising  or 
lowering  their  voice,  remaining  all  the  while  hidden,  to 
make  the  children  think  they  are  either  quite  near  or  far 
off.  As  to  the  errors  relating  to  the  fusion  in  one 
whole  of  various  sensations,  either  synchronic  or  success¬ 
ive,  whatever  importance  they  may  have  as  regards  the 
musical  education  of  little  children,  they  belong  to  the 
chapter  of  infant  aesthetics,  and  we  abstain  from  alluding 
to  them  here.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  the  spiritual  ear,  or 
the  faculty  of  judging  sonorous  sounds,  plays  many  tricks, 
even  if  it  renders  good  service  to  the  material  ear. 

It  is  difficult  to  say  how  much  harm  is  done  to  children 
by  people  who  do  not  scruple  to  give  vent  violently  before 


ERRORS  AND  ILLUSIONS. 


229 


them  to  their  tempers  and  passions.  Children  generally 
imagine  that  this  or  that  angry  tone  of  voice  means  dis¬ 
pleasure  with  them,  and  that  they  are  going  to  he  scolded 
and  punished.  It  is  the  same  with  dogs  and  cats  whose 
masters  lose  their  temper  about  every  trifle ;  when  they 
begin  to  storm  or  to  swear,  the  animals  hide  themselves  in 
terror.  I  knew  a  little  girl  of  five  months  who  used  to 
be  constantly  whipped  and  scolded  to  cure  her  of  a  dirty 
habit;  and  often  the  mere  sight  of  an  angry  face,  an  angry 
gesture  or  voice,  would  be  enough,  from  some  mysterious 
association  of  ideas,  to  make  her  commit  the  fault  in  spite 
of  herself.  Another  little  thing  of  fifteen  months,  whose 
father  used  to  scold  her  unreasonably  often,  whenever  she 
heard  a  heavy  step  on  the  stairs  thought  it  was  her  father, 
and  ran  trembling  to  her  mother. 

Smell  and  taste  are  liable  to  numberless  causes  of  error. 
In  the  first  place  we  know  that  the  nervous  excitability  of 
the  sense  of  smell  very  quickly  wears  off,  so  that  we  only 
enjoy  pleasant  odors  or  suffer  from  bad  ones  at  the  mo¬ 
ment  and  during  short  periods.  For  each  scent  in  its  turn 
to  be  fully  appreciated,  they  must  succeed  each  other  in  a 
certain  order.  We  know  also  that  smell  and  taste  are 
closely  connected  and  that  they  deceive  conjointly.  We 
can  tell  the  taste  of  cinnamon  from  its  smell,  and  if  we 
pinch  our  nose  while  eating  it,  we  find  no  taste  in  it  but 
that  of  fir-wood.  Mtfny  other  substances  lose  their  flavors 
in  the  same  way.  Thus,  nurses  act  scientifically  without 
knowing  it,  when  they  pinch  the  babies’  noses  to  make 
them  swallow  disagreeable  medicine.  Taste  deceives  us  in 
a  similar  manner.  When  we  eat  or  drink  substances  of 
different  flavors  in  quick  succession,  without  giving  the 
nerves  of  taste  time  to  rest  from  their  first  sensations,  how¬ 
ever  different  the  flavors  may  be,  we  are  no  longer  able  to 
distinguish  them.  By  drinking  alternately,  with  our  eyes 
bandaged,  buttermilk  and  Bordeaux  wine,  it  becomes  im¬ 
possible  after  several  repetitions  of  the  experiment,  to  dis¬ 
cover  any  difference  between  the  two  liquids.  These  are 
illusions  which  children’s  doctors  do  not  fail  to  avail  them¬ 
selves  of. 

Finally,  as  to  errors  of  touch.  They  are  generally  easily 


230  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


corrected  by  the  attentive  use  of  tlie  tactilo-muscular 
organs.  This  is  at  any  rate  the  case  with  regard  to  im¬ 
pressions  of  surfaces,  their  smoothness  or  roughness,  hol¬ 
lowness  or  relief,  etc.  The  exercise  of  our  organs  pure  and 
simple  corrects  more  or  less  quickly  and  completely  the 
errors  of  the  child  in  this  respect.  Needless  to  say  that 
the  intelligence  of  the  child  and  the  intelligence  of  the 
educator  contribute  much  to  hastening  on  progress  of  this 
sort.  It  is,  moreover,  often  difficult,  even  for  adults,  to 
rectify  the  vague  or  determinate  indications  of  the  sense, 
or  the  senses,  of  which  we  are  treating. 

The  appreciation  of  different  weights  is  notan  easy  thing. 
If  we  take  up  two  things  together,  we  cannot  always  say 
which  of  the  two  is  the  heavier;  or,  if  the  weights  are 
almost  equal,  we  cannot  determine  whether  they  are  exactly 
equal  or  not.  This  explains  to  us  the  confusion  made  by 
a  three-months-old  child,  between  a  full  and  an  empty 
bottle.  It  also  explains  to  us  why  a  rather  more  experienced 
child  either  attacks  all  objects  alike  and  tries  to  lift  them, 
or  else  hesitates  to  touch  even  the  lightest  objects,  fancy¬ 
ing  they  must  be  heavy. 

The  sense  of  touch  is  also  subject  to  frequent  errors  with 
regard  to  appreciating  the  different  degrees  of  heat  in 
different  bodies.  But  here  children  are  scarcely  more  at 
fault  than  adults.  Doctors  tell  us  that  the  heat  which 
exists  in  bodies  in  a  latent  state  does  not  affect  us.  The 
temperature  of  our  bodies  remaining  the  same,  as  well  as 
that  of  external  objects,  different  objects  affect  us  thermally 
in  an  unequal  manner.  In  a  room  where  all  the  objects 
are  at  a  temperature  of  120  degrees,  we  feel  a  lower  degree 
of  warmth  if  we  put  our  naked  foot  on  the  carpet  than  if 
we  touch  the  marble  chimney-piece  or  any  metallic  object. 
At  the  same  degree  of  temperature  the  walls  and  the  wood¬ 
work  appear  much  hotter  than  the  clothes  we  have  on.  If 
we  suppose  the  same  objects  to  be  all  of  them  at  a  much 
lower  temperature,  the  relative  degrees  will  be  reversed, 
and  the  objects  will  appear  colder  and  colder,  in  the  same 
order  in  which  before  they  appeared  to  be  warmer  and 
warmer.  These  singular  phenomena  are  explained  in  the 
first  instance  by  the  greater  or  less  facility  which  different 


ERRORS  OWING  TO  MORAL  CAUSES. 


231 


bodies  have  of  communicating  heat,  and  of  producing  on 
us  the  different  impressions  of  heat  and  cold.  It  is  for  the 
same  reason  that  when  one  takes  a  cold  bath,  the  water 
seems  colder  than  the  air,  and  the  air  colder  than  our 
clothes,  although  all  these  objects  are  of  the  same  tem¬ 
perature.  In  the  same  way,  again,  a  child  who  comes  out 
of  a  warm  bath,  and  is  wrapped  up  in  towels  of  the  same 
temperature,  feels  all  the  same  a  chill;  it  is  because  air 
and  stuffs  transmit  heat  more  slowly  than  water. 

VII. 

ERRORS  OWING  TO  MORAL  CAUSES. 

Hitherto  we  have  only  considered  illusions  and  errors 
arising  from  physiological  or  purely  intellectual  causes. 
But  for  children,  as  well  as  for  adults,  there  are  also  moral 
causes  of  error.  So  many  sentiments  and  inclinations,  so 
many  sources  of  error.  It  would  take  too  long  to  pass 
them  all  in  review,  so  we  will  content  ourselves  with  a  few 
prominent  examples. 

One  frequent  cause  of  error  in  children,  is  their  feverish 
need  of  movement  and  action,  their  passionate  instinct  of 
exercise  and  of  play.  They  often  observe  very  well  (but 
only  up  to  a  certain  point)  things  which  interest  them, 
because  they  pay  attention  to  them.  But  it  is  not  a  search 
for  truth  which  interests  them,  it  is  the  need  of  acting,  and 
of  acting  quickly  to  arrive  at  such-and-such  an  end.  Thus 
they  form  their  decisions,  so  to  speak,  by  inspiration. 
They  do  not  trouble  themselves  about  the  real  bearing,  or 
the  limits  or  the  distant  results  of  things;  they  have  seen, 
or  half-seen  what  they  wanted  to  see — the  means  of  pro¬ 
ducing  a  certain  result,  and  that  is  enough  for  them ;  they 
believe  and  they  act.  Too  much  precipitation  is  as  detri¬ 
mental  to  action  as  to  thought,  as  they  often  find  out  at  their 
own  cost,  but  only  to  fall  back  again  soon  into  the  same 
errors.  Experience  comes  slowly.  Here  is  an  example  of 
this  kind  of  errors,  which  at  the  same  time  marks  “the 
intimate  connection  of  thought  and  of  language,  and  the 
mutual  help  they  give  each.”  With  children,  as  with  ani- 


232  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


mals,  actions  which  appear  to  us  sensible,  make  ns  suppose 
them  to  be  more  intellectually  developed  than  they  are. 
When  a  child,  for  instance,  perceives  that  the  pin  which 
fastens  the  wheel  of  his  little  carriage  is  loose,  he  soon 
comes  to  foresee  that  the  slightest  shake  will  cause  it  to 
fall  out,  and  that  then  the  wheel  will  fall  also.  From  that 
moment  the  idea  of  making  the  pin  secure  naturally  pre¬ 
sents  itself  to  him;  but  we  are  not  sure  that  there  is  any¬ 
thing  in  his  mind  but  a  simple  succession  of  images.  By 
his  action  he  realizes  the  image  of  a  linch-pin  and  a  wheel 
securely  fastened,  because  he  does  not  wish  for  the  contin¬ 
uance  of  the  other  image  in  which  these  same  objects  in 
their  unsteady  condition  presage  a  catastrophe.  In  order 
for  him  to  set  to  work  to  seek  out  the  causes,  which  would 
be  a  real  exercise  of  reason,  it  would  be  necessary  for  his 
intellect  to  make  another  step  in  advance. 

“Without  presuming  to  decide  that  this  progressive  step 
depends  entirely  on  language,  I  maintain  at  any  rate  that 
words  will  be  the  means  of  establishing  it.  Ask  a  child  to 
give  you  his  reason  for  what  he  did  to  mend  his  cart.  The 
words  which  he  will  use  in  reply,  will  lead  him  to  think 
that  he  acted  thus  in  consequence  of  certain  laws  which 
may  be  applied  to  many  things  besides  his  cart.  The  par¬ 
ticular  image  will  become  effaced  in  the  presence  of  more 
general  ideas.  He  will  tell  us  that,  the  pin  being  loose, 
the  wheel  would  certainly  fall;  and  this  word  loose,  the 
designation  of  a  quality  separable  from  the  object  itself, 
applicable  to  a  thousand  other  objects,  and  suggesting  a 
necessary  event,  has  already  become  a  germ  of  general 
ideas.  Notions  of  the  effects  of  weight,  of  friction,  in 
short,  of  all  the  immutable  laws  of  nature,  will  in  time 
result  from  this  imperfect  explanation  which  he  has 
given  us.” 

Vanity,  self-consciousness,  and  obstinacy  also  lead  chil¬ 
dren  into  a  number  of  errors.  Marie  is  on  the  swing, 
where  she  makes  more  noise  than  all  the  three  children 
who  are  looking  at  her  and  awaiting  their  turn.  In  five 
minutes,  she  manages  to  get  in  more  than  twenty  phrases, 
all  beginning  or  ending  with  the  word  I  or  me.  “Look  at 
me,  how  fast  I  swing  myself!  No  one  can  go  as  high  as  I 


'ERRORS  OWING  TO  MORAL  CAUSES. 


233 


can !  Look,  I  am  swinging  myself  all  alone !”  She  fancies 
ah  this  is  true,  whereas  none  of  it  is;  it  is  illusion  of 
judgment  produced  by  an  exaggerated  feeling  of  personal 
sa ill.  “My  pleasures,  my  troubles,  my  pains,  and  my 
happiness,”  are  all  exaggerated  by  the  child,  through  inex¬ 
perience,  through  want  of  foresight,  and  through  a  strong 
sense  of  personality. 

It  is  needless  to  enlarge  on  the  perpetual  illusions  and 
errors  which  self  interest,  especially  when  connected  with 
the  palate,  give  rise  to  in  children.  They  are  patent  to 
every  one.  But  it  is  curious  to  observe  the  facility  with 
which  their  tendencies  or  their  self-seeking  habits  lead 
them  unconsciously,  from  the  best  intentions,  into  error, 
and  even  into  the  practice  of  sophistry.  Two  children,  one 
seven  and  the  other  four  years  eld,  were  often  very  quarrel¬ 
some  together,  either  from  jealousy  or  thoughtlessness. 
The  younger,  formerly  rather  ruled  over  by  his  brother,  is 
now  no  longer  afraid  of  him,  and  often  provokes  him.  It 
is  oniy  by  fits  and  starts  that  they  are  kind  to  each  other, 
ana  chen  they  say,  “Shall  we  be  friends?”  The  treaty 
concluded,  it  lasts  as  long  as  one  could  expect.  The  other 
day  we  were  witness  of  a  very  droll  scene.  Some  one  had 
promised  at  dessert  to  divide  a  piece  of  sugar  between 
them.  The  younger  one  said  to  his  mother,  “Mamma,  I 
want  to  be  kind  to  Charles;  you  must  give  him  the  biggest 
piece.”  The  mother,  however,  cut  the  sugar  as  equally  as 
possible,  and  there  was  hardly  any  difference  to  be  seen 
between  the  two  pieces.  There  was  a  slight  difference, 
however,  which  both  children  noticed.  Charles  said, 
“They  are  the  same  size,”  preparing  at  the  same  time  to 
take  the  larger  bit.  But  Fernand  was  quicker,  and  pre¬ 
sented  him  the  smaller  piece,  saying  to  him:  “Here  you 
are,  Charles,  here’s  the  largest  piece.”  And  Charles,  not 
daring  vj  contradict  him,  but  very  much  vexed,  accepted  it 
without  i*  word. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

ON  EXPEESSION  AND  LANGUAGE. 

I. 

Human  language,  or  spee'clr,  is  only  a  superior  kind  of 
tlie  faculty  of  expression  which  all,  or  nearly  all,  animals 
possess.  Birds  by  their  attitudes  and  their  song,  dogs,  by 
their  barking  and  howling,  ants  by  the  contact  of  their 
moving  antennae,  certain  kinds  of  fish  by  sounds,  probably 
related  to  their  instinct  of  propagation,  in  short,  the  greater 
number  of  animate  beings  are  able  to  communicate  to 
each  other,  species  with  species,  and  individual  with  indi¬ 
vidual,  by  ocular,  auricular,  or  tactile  signs,  their  sorrows 
and  their  joys,  their  desires,  their  love  and  their  anger.  For 
man  and  for  other  animals,  language  has  the  same  origin — 
a  complex  origin,  and  one  in  which  direct  observation  of 
little  children  at  the  period  of  lingual  evolution  may  give 
us  much  valuable  light. 

The  principle  of  language,  or  of  expression,  in  general,  is 
the  correspondence  of  certain  organic  movements,  strongly 
marked  outwardly,  with  the  inward  sensations  and  senti¬ 
ments  experienced.  The  internal  modifications  of  the 
machine  are  revealed  by  peripheric  modifications,  as  con¬ 
stant  as  they  are  varied  in  each  species.  Such  are  most  of 
the  movements,  the  sobs,  the  laughter,  the  babbling  of 
children,  mechanically  executed  from  the  first  months. 
They  necessarily  become  conscious  of  them  after  they  have 
performed  them  a  certain  number  of  times;  but  they  attach 
no  significance  to  them,  and  produce  them  at  first  without 

234 


ON  EXPKESSION  AND  LANGUAGE. 


235 


the  slightest  intention.  These  are  neither  more  nor  less 
than  reflex  actions  of  the  organism.  But,  with  intelligent 
beings,  these  unconscious  utterances  soon  develop  into 
signs.  This  result  is  the  work  of  the  association  of  ideas. 
The  animal  or  the  infant  learns  to  associate  the  idea  of 
these  organic  phenomena, — guttural  or  other  sounds,  move¬ 
ments  of  the  limbs,  screams,  sobs,  laughter,  and  tears, — 
with  the  idea  of  the  accompanying  sentiments  or  sensa¬ 
tions.  By  a  kind  of  natural  selection  these  movements  are 
changed  from  spontaneous  to  conscious,  from  mechanical 
to  voluntary.  The  child,  who  produced  them  at  first  from 
sheer  necessity  of  his  nature,  now  repeats  and  perfects 
them  for  pleasure  or  use.  An  infant  of  three  months, 
who  makes  intentional  gestures  wTith  his  little  arms  in 
order  to  ask  for  or  to  repulse  some  object,  knowing  by  ex¬ 
perience  that  these  gestures  will  be  understood,  already 
exercises  the  innate,  organic,  and  hereditary  faculty  of  ex¬ 
pression.  When  he  cries  in  order  to  get  his  feeding-bottle, 
to  be  taken  up,  to  be  held  in  the  arms,  to  refuse  a  disa¬ 
greeable  dose,  the  action,  which  was  at  first  automatic,  has 
now  become  conscious  and  intentional;  it  is  even  so  much 
a  matter  of  habit  that  it  might  be  called  reflex.  When 
tears  of  this  sort  are  too  promptly  attended  to,  and  the 
desires  expressed  by  gestures,  screams,  or  other  signs  too 
readily  granted,  children  are  apt  to  repeat  the  process 
from  caprice  and  habit,  without  desire  or  intention ;  they 
do  not  always  shed  tears  without  a  motive,  but  it  happens 
very  often. 

The  best  proof  of  how  much  natural  affinities  and  he¬ 
reditary  influences  have  to  do  with  the  first  progress  in 
speech,  is,  that  little  children  appear,  from  the  very  first, 
to  understand  the  simple  language  of  their  mother,  and  can 
distinguish  their  different  tones  of  joy  and  anger,  of  coax¬ 
ing  or  threatening.  Tiedemann  says  of  his  son  at  the  age 
of  one  month:  “When  any  one  spoke  to  him  he  tried  to 
produce  sounds,  very  simple  ones  it  is  true,  and  quite  in¬ 
articulate,  but  nevertheless  varied.”  A  little  girl,  three 
weeks  old,  who  is  by  my  side  as  I  write  these  lines,  stops 
screaming  and  crying  instantly  when  her  mother  speaks 
coaxingly  to  her.  I  have  also  often  noticed  that  quite  young 


2:Ui  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


kittens  will  begin  to  whine  if  left  for  a  moment  alone; 
bnt  they  stop  directly  they  hear  their  mother  coming  back. 
But  to  return  to  our  children.  A  little  girl  who  began  to 
smile  at  fifteen  days  old  used  also  at  this  early  age  to 
express  by  particular  sounds  that  she  wanted  to  be  fed. 
At  three  months  she  would  utter  little  cries  of  joy  and 
admiration  when  she  saw  flowers  or  birds,  or  any  brilliant 
or  moving  object.  If  her  mother  called  her  attention  to 
things  of  this  sort,  saying:  Look  at  this  pretty  flower!” 
“See  pretty  Coco,”  or  “this  pretty  thing,”  she  would  in¬ 
stantly  begin  this  joyous  babbling,  accompanied  by  little 
graceful  actions,  expressive  of  desire,  admiration,  and 
delight.  She  attached  a  meaning  to  a  number  of  words 
repeated  to  her  by  her  mother,  turning  her  head  towards 
the  dog,  when  told  to  “Look  at  Medor!”  or  towards  the 
bird-cage  at  the  words,  “See  Coco.”  No  doubt  also  she 
attached  some  vague  sense  to  the  varied  sounds  by  which 
she  expressed  joy  or  anger,  or  violent  desire.  But  she  did 
not  appear  to  produce  these  with  the  same  decided  inten¬ 
tion  that  her  movements  or  her  screams,  sobs,  and  tears 
indicated  at  certain  moments. 

A  child  of  seven  months,  who  had  never  before  seen  me, 
smiled  at  me  as  if  I  were  an  old  acquaintance,  on  hearing 
me  pronounce  his  name.  Here  at  any  rate  we  have  an 
instance  of  a  vocal  sign  joined  to  the  memory  of  caresses 
lavished  on  him  by  his  nurse  or  mother  while  calling  him 
by  his  name;  or  else  perhaps  the  sign  is  associated  with 
the  idea,  already  confusedly  conceived,  of  his  own  person¬ 
ality.  When  I  called  him  by  his  name,  or  gave  him  some¬ 
thing  he  wanted,  or  if  he  procured  for  himself  some  much- 
desired  object,  he  would  instantly  turn  to  his  mother 
smiling;  or  if  he  was  frightened,  astonished,  or  uneasy,  he 
also  turned  to  her  in  a  significant  manner.  It  was  as  if 
he  wished  his  mother  to  know  when  he  was  happy  or  in 
trouble.  At  nine  months  he  uttered  little  cries  of  pleasure, 
or  cries  to  attract  attention,  some  of  which  were  evidently 
imitated,  at  the  sight  of  a  dog,  a  cat,  or  a  bird,  and  even 
once  of  a  fly  which  had  crawled  on  the  edge  of  his  plate, 
and  which  his  eyes  followed  for  a  long  time  after  it  had 
flown  away.  At  eleven  months  he  understood  the  mean- 


ON  EXPKESSION  AND  LANGUAGE.  2.27 

ing  of  a  great  many  words,  and  even  of  a  few  little  phrases; 
and  he  used  to  gesticulate  with  much  expression.  One  of 
his  intentional  gestures,  which  consisted  in  clasping  his 
twTo  hands  together,  interested  me  very  much.  He  would 
stand  upright  in  front  of  an  arm-chair  against  which  he 
supported  himself  slightly;  his  mother,  three  steps  behind 
him,  would  show  him  a  piece  of  cake,  or  something  that 
he  wished  for.  If  she  did  not  bring  it  to  him  he 
moved  his  whole  body  round,  making  eloquent  signs  that 
he  wanted  some  one  to  help  him  to  walk  to  her.  His 
mother  would  wait  a  little  longer,  and  then  he  would  join 
his  hands  several  times  successively,  crying  at  the  same 
time.  He  had  been  for  some  time  in  the  habit  of  mak¬ 
ing  this  gesture  when  he  very  much  wanted  anything 
which  he  either  noticed  of  himself,  or  which  was  shown 
to  him.  His  parents  liked  to  designate  it  as  the  gesture 
of  supplication,  w'hich  it  would  be  very  easy  to  explain  in 
his  case  as  the  result  of  heredity,  and  which  it  is  impos¬ 
sible  to  refer  to  the  influences  of  imitation,  the  action 
never  having  been  performed  before  him.  It  has  seemed 
to  me  that  the  action  of  mechanically  bringing  the  hands 
together  to  seize  or  to  retain  an  object,  may  have  remained 
even  when  the  object  was  refused;  in  fact,  in  the  violence 
of  desire,  imagination  tends  to  confound  the  idea  and  the 
sight  and  the  possession  of  a  thing. 

This  gesture,  at  first  unconscious,  may  easily  become 
intentional  on  the  part  of  young  children,  and  develop  into 
the  gesture  of  prayer,  provided  that  their  desires  are  satis¬ 
fied  when  they  make  it.  The  child  I  have  been  speaking 
of  had  nearly  arrived  at  this  point.  I  think  this  remark¬ 
able  gesture  should  be  connected  with  analogous  move¬ 
ments  that  are  so  frequently  seen  in  young  animals.  A 
kitten,  six  weeks  old,  seeing  its  mother  and  two  bigger 
sisters  standing  on  their  hind  paws  and  catching  with  their 
front  paws  the  food  that  was  being  thrown  to  them,  tried 
to  imitate  them ;  but  she  tumbled  awkwardly  on  her  side 
without  accomplishing  any  result.  Then  she  took  to 
climbing  up  our  trousers  or  petticoats  to  get  at  our  hands. 
A  few  days  later,  having  become  a  little  firmer  on  her 
hind-quarters,  she  made  another  attempt  at  catching  her 


238  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


food,  and  half  raised  herself,  bringing  her  front  paws  to¬ 
gether  as  she  saw  the  other  cats  do.  Often,  however,  the 
movement  of  prehension  was  made  before  the  bit  of  food 
had  been  thrown  or  after  it  had  fallen,  or  been  caught  by 
more  skilful  hands;  the  kitten’s  paws  still  remained 
clasped  together,  as  if  the  wished-for  prize  had  been 
obtained.  As  in  the  case  of  the  child  above  mentioned, 
the  ideas  of  the  desired  object  and  of  its  possession  get 
confused :  the  gestures  are  finished  in  the  air. 

Let  us  take  another  child  of  eleven  months.  He  has  a 
little  cardboard  horse  on  wheels,  which  he  treats  as  a  sort 
of  scapegoat.  He  knocks  it  about,  strangles  it,  pinches  it 
with  all  his  might,  etc.,  etc.  These  interesting  exercises 
are  habitually  accompanied  by  the  exclamations,  Hue,  hue, 
which  he  learned  about  a  month  ago.  When  any  one 
says  to  him,  “Beat  the  horse,”  he  takes  his  little  wooden 
spade,  and  belabors  the  back  of  the  insensible  quadruped. 
A  lady  friend  of  his  often  sets  the  child  astride  on  her 
knees,  saying,  brourn!  broum!  words  which  the  little  rider 
imitates  as  well  as  he  can,  while  performing  his  imaginary 
gallop.  He  also  says  distinctly,  papa,  papa,  without  at¬ 
taching  any  sense  to  the  words,  as  he  has  not  seen  his 
father,  even  in  a  photograph.  He  lias  been  taught  to 
make  with  his  hand  the  gesture  which  corresponds  to  the 
words  au  revoir.  He  cannot  yet  pronounce  these  words, 
but  he  makes  the  gesture  mechanically,  through  simple 
association  of  ideas,  and  only  when  he  is  told  to  do  so,  to 
any  one  who  is  going  away.  He  also  performs  a  little 
comedy  of  his  own.  If  one  says  to  him,  Prise,  he  sniffs 
like  a  person  about  to  sneeze,  with  an  irresistibly  droll 
curl  of  the  lips  and  the  tip  of  his  nose.  This  is  the  first 
act,  which  is  followed  by  a  second  more  complicated  and 
not  less  curious.  An  empty  snuff-box  is  given  to  him 
into  which  he  inserts  his  fingers,  carries  them  to  his  nose, 
and  recommences  the  performance  of  which  we  have  just 
spoken.  The  more  one  laughs  at  him,  the  more  ceremony 
he  makes  about  conveying  his  fingers  from  the  snuff-box 
to  his  nose,  the  more  he  sniffs  and  turns  up  the  tip  of  his 
nose.  He  understands  the  meaning  of  such  plirdsesas: 
“Give  this;”  “Take  that;”  “Drink  this;”  “Eat  that, ’’etc. 


ON  EXPRESSION  AND  LANGUAGE. 


239 


He  has  thus  acquired  not  only  knowledge  of  signs  repre¬ 
senting  individual  objects,  but,  as  we  can  see,  he  also 
understands  signs  representing  fairly  complex  ideas  and 
actions,  and  a  few  of  which  he  has  succeeded  in  imitating. 
He  understands  the  value  of  a  word,  and  every  day  he 
makes  fresh  progress  in  the  art  of  speaking. 

H. 

Thus  then  we  see  imitative  and  oral  language  develop¬ 
ing  side  by  side;  the  former,  however,  thrown  back  for  a 
time  because  of  tbe  rapid  progress  of  the  latter,  which  is 
the  necessary,  universal,  and,  so  to  say,  official  instrument 
of  human  expression.  This  is  also  the  more  interesting 
language  for  the  psychologist  to  study,  and  it  will  be  con¬ 
venient  here  to  give  it  special  attention.  Let  us  go  over 
briefly  the  first  lines  of  this  branch  of  study,  and,  checking 
our  own  observations  by  those  of  eminent  observers,  let  us 
attempt  in  broad  outlines  a  sketch  of  infant  glossology. 

First  of  all,  it  is  necessary  to  decide  which  are  the  dif¬ 
ferent  parts  played  by  instinct,  organization,  heredity,  and 
education — i.  <?.,  imitation — in  the  acquisition  of  language. 
Man,  like  other  animals,  utters  sounds  and  produces  spon¬ 
taneous  movements  which  soon  become  conscious  and  vol¬ 
untary  signs  of  what  he  feels  and  thinks:  from  the  moment 
of  his  birth  he  begins  to  speak  the  language  of  nature,  and 
possibly  the  language  of  his  forefathers.  “The  intimate 
connection  between  tbe  brain,  as  it  is  now  developed  in  us, 
and  the  faculty  of  speech,  is  well  shown  by  those  curious 
cases  of  brain  disease  in  which  speech  is  specially  affected, 
as  wheii'vthe  power  to  remember  substantives  is  lost,  whilst 
other  words  can  be  correctly  used.  There  is  no  more  im¬ 
probability  in  the  effects  of  the  continued  use  of  the  vocal 
and  mental  organs  being  inherited,  than  in  the  case  of 
hand-writing,  which  depends  partly  on  the  structure  of 
the  hand,  and  partly  on  the  disposition  of  the  mind;  and 
hand-writing  is  certainly  inherited.”1 

The  part  played  by  heredity  in  language,  side  by  side 


Darwin,  Descent  of  Man,  vol,  i.,  p.  58. 


240  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


with  that  of  imitation,  and  which  appears  to  us  so  consid¬ 
erable,  is  far  from  being  established  by  experimental  proofs, 
either  in  the  case  of  men  or  of  animals. 

“The  experiment  has  never  been  fairly  tried,  of  turning 
out  a  pair  of  birds  into  an  enclosure  covered  with  netting, 
and  watching  the  result  of  their  untaught  attempts  at  nest¬ 
making.  With  regard  to  the  song  of  birds,  however,  which 
is  thought  to  be  equally  instinctive,  the  experiment  has 
been  tried;  and  it  is  found  that  young  birds  never  have 
the  song  peculiar  to  their  species  if  they  have  not  heard  it, 
whereas  they  acquire  very  easily  the  song  of  almost  any 
other  bird  with  which  they  are  associated.”  1 

“  The  sounds  uttered  by  birds  offer  in  several  respects 
the  nearest  analogy  to  language,  for  all  the  members  of 
the  same  species  utter  the  same  instinctive  cries,  expressive 
of  their  emotions;  and  all  the  kinds  that  have  the  power 
of  singing  exert  this  power  instinctively;  but  the  actual 
song,  and  even  the  call-notes,  are  learnt  from  their  parents 
or  foster-parents.  These  sounds,  as  Dailies  Barrington 
has  proved,  ‘  are  no  more  innate  than  language  is  in  man.’ 
The  first  attempts  to  sing  ‘  may  be  compared  to  the  im¬ 
perfect  endeavor  in  a  child  to  babble.’  The  young  males 
continue  practicing,  or,  as  the  bird-catchers  say,  recording, 
for  ten  or  eleven  months.  Their  first  essays  show  hardly 
a  rudiment  of  the  future  song;  but  as  they  grow  older  we 
can  perceive  what  they  are  aiming  at,  and  at  last  they  are 
said  ‘  to  sing  their  song  round.’  Nestlings  which  have 
learnt  the  song  of  a  distinct  species,  as  with  the  canary 
birds  educated  in  the  Tyrol,  teach  and  transmit  their  new 
song  to  their  offspring.  The  slight  natural  differences  of 
song  in  the  same  species  inhabiting  different  districts  may 
be  appositely  compared,  as  Barrington  remarks,  ‘  to  pro¬ 
vincial  dialects ;  ’  and  the  songs  of  all  allied  though  dis¬ 
tinct  species  may  be  compared  with  the  languages  of 
distinct  races  of  man.”2 

We  see  in  like  manner  that  human  beings  only  speak  as 
they  have  been  taught;  but  it  would  be  interesting  to  know 


1  Natural  Selection,  Essays  by  A.  Russel  Wallace,  p.  220. 

2  Darwin,  Descent  of  Man,  vol.  l.,p.  55. 


ON  EXPRESSION  AND  LANGUAGE. 


241 


if,  in  the  existing  stage  of  the  development  of  the  human 
brain,  they  would  not  of  themselves  evolve  a  sort  of  hered¬ 
itary  language,  of  which  the  first  efforts  of  infant  lan¬ 
guage  would  be  the  basis.  The  experiment  made, 
according  to  Herodotus,  by  king  Psammetichus,  is  not,  in 
this  respect,  either  sufficient  or  even  authentic.  The  king 
of  Egypt,  curious  to  know  what  was  the  most  ancient  na¬ 
tion  of  the  world,  had  two  new-born  children  shut  up  in 
a  cottage,  where  they  could  hear  no  one  speak,  and  where 
they  saw  no  other  living  beings  than  the  goats  who  nour¬ 
ished  them.  At  the  age  of  two  years,  when  some  one 
went  into  their  room,  these  two  little  savages  uttered  the 
word  beccos,  which  signifies  bread  in  the  Phrygian  tongue. 
Psammetichus,  so  runs  the  legend,  then  thought  himself 
sufficiently  authorized  in  proclaiming  the  Phrygians  to  be 
the  most  ancient  people  of  the  world.  We  shall  be  more 
exacting  than  this  royal  experimentalist.  We  declare  our¬ 
selves  to  be  absolutely  incapable  of  deciding  &  priori, 
whether  children  subjected  for  a  sufficient  length  of  time 
to  a  like  treatment  would  work  out  for  themselves  any¬ 
thing  like  a  real  language,  what  sort  of  language  it  would 
be,  and  what  sort  of  ideas  would  be  evolved  in  their  brains, 
abandoned  solely  to  the  resources  of  hereditary  transmis¬ 
sion  and  imitation  of  nature. 

Most  of  the  recorded  facts  relating  to  the  sequestration 
of  human  beings  at  a  tender  age,  and  which  some  philoso¬ 
phers  think  conclusive,  we  regard  simply  as  not  having 
happened,  as  far  as  science  is  concerned. 

“We  read  sometimes  in  the  newspaper,  of  the  brutal 
state  of  those  unfortunate  beings  whom  avarice  or  cruelty 
had  from  their  early  childhood  kept  confined  in  dark  cel¬ 
lars,  and  excluded  from  all  social  intercourse  and  intel¬ 
lectual  excitement.  The  physical  and  mental  state  of 
such  individuals  is  mere  vegetation,  not  a  developed  hu¬ 
man  existence.  ...  It  was  impossible  to  impart  to 
the  well-known  Caspar  Hauser  the  idea  of  a  horse.  When 
the  word  was  pronounced,  he  thought  of  a  wooden  toy 
which  he  played  with  during  his  imprisonment,  being  un¬ 
able  to  attach  any  meaning  to  the  word  horse  but  in  this 
connection.  .  .  .  Corresponding  observations  have 

17 


242  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


been  made  on  men,  who  from  their  earliest  childhood  had 
lived  and  grown  up  among  animals,  removed  from  the 
society  of  men.  They  lived  and  supported  themselves 
like  animals,  they  had  no  spiritual  wants;  they  could  not 
speak,  and  exhibited  not  a  trace  of  that  ‘  divine  spark,’ 
which  is  said  to  be  innate  in  man.”1  The  observations  of 
this  well-known  German  materialist  have  no  semblance  of 
scientific  experiment.  That  an  infant  hidden  away  in  a 
dark  cell,  that  a  young  savage  nurtured  by  goats,  and  who 
actually  lived  and  grew  up  in  the  woods,  should  not  be 
able  to  speak,  or  show  by  the  ordinary  means  of  those  who 
can  speak,  that  they  have  any  general  or  specific  ideas  of 
existence,  is  not  at  all  surprising.  But  is  it  certain  that 
they  did  not  possess  ideas — even  general  ones — though 
they  had  no  means  of  expressing  them?  If  five  or  six 
children  were  shut  up  together,  would  they  not  evolve  a 
common  language?  This  has  not  yet  been  tried.  This 
experiment,  easier  to  make  and  less  barbarous  than  might 
be  supposed,  would  no  doubt  enable  us  to  arrive  at  some¬ 
thing  more  than  conjectures  on  the  origin  and  nature  of 
language,  and  on  those  interesting  problems  of  psycho¬ 
genesis,  which  contemporary  philosophy  approaches  with 
so  much  reserve  and  so  few  results,  but  of  which  natural 
science  is  preparing  the  probable  solutions. 

The  ideas  propounded  by  M.  Taine  on  the  acquisition  of 
language  by  children  are  a  mixture,  somewhat  confused  at 
times,  of  the  theory  of  Condillac  and  the  modem  theory 
of  selection. 

According  to  him,  children  begin  to  exercise  their  vocal 
organs  by  a  continuous  series  of  cries  and  varied  exclama¬ 
tions;  for  several  months  they  do  not  get  beyond  vowels; 
“  by  perpetual  groping  and  attempts,  and  by  gradual  selec¬ 
tion,  consonants  are  added  to  the  vowels,  and  the  exclama¬ 
tions  become  more  and  more  articulate.”  At  twelve 
months  old,  his  daughter  appears  to  him  to  have  acquired 
the  material  of  language,  without  attaching  any  sense  to 
the  sounds  which  she  uttered.  “All  the  initiative,”  he 


1  Buchner,  Force  and  Matter.  See  English  translation  by  J.  F. 
Collingwood,  p.  164. 


ON  EXPEESSION  AND  LANGUAGE. 


243 


says,  “  is  her  own;  it  is  personal,  accidental,  and  moment¬ 
ary  invention  which  have  caused  her  to  find  and  to  repeat 
such  sounds  as  mm,  kraaau,  papapa;  example  and  education 
have  only  served  to  direct  her  attention  to  sounds  which 
she  had  either  attempted  or  found  out  for  herself.  ”  I  must 
say  that  in  my  opinion  the  list  of  sounds  originated  by 
children  is  a  very  limited  one,  and  little  adapted  for  the 
basis  of  any  solid  argument,  touching  the  respective  roles 
of  personal  initiative  and  of  imitation  in  the  acquisition  of 
language. 

Pleading  still  the  cause  of  the  spontaneity  of  invention 
or  re-invention,  which  precedes  in  children  the  work  of  as¬ 
similation,  M.  Taine  affirms  (no  doubt  with  reason)  that 
this  infantine  babble  is  of  astounding  flexibility  and  variety 
of  meaning,  and  that  every  shade  of  emotion,— astonish¬ 
ment,  gaiety,  vexation,  sadness,  etc., — is  expressed  in  its 
various  tones. 

Mr.  Darwin  also  contributes  some  observations  on  the 
means  of  communication  possessed  by  children.  These 
are,  at  first,  instinctive  cries  intended  to  express  suffering 
in  general;  after  a  time,  the  tones  vary  according  as  pain 
or  hunger  is  the  cause  of  the  utterances ;  a  little  later,  the 
power  of  voluntary  tears  is  added;  at  the  age  of  forty-six 
days  there  are  little  varied  sounds  produced,  as  if  by 
pleasure;  at  113  days,  we  see  the  first  attempt  at  a  smile, 
and  possibly  at  the  same  date  efforts  to  imitate  sounds. 
The  articulate  sound  da  is  formed  at  five-and-a-half 
months.  “When  a  year  old,  he  tried  to  invent  a  word  to 
designate  his  food,  and  produced  the  sound  mum;  and 
henceforth  this  syllable  signified:  ‘Give  me  something  to 
eat.’  This  word  corresponds  to  the  ham  used  by  M. 
Taine’s  child,  so  Mr.  Darwin  tells  us,  and  he  seems  to  at¬ 
tribute  it  wholly  to  spontaneity  and  not  to  imitation,  for 
he  adds  that  he  does  not  know  “what  led  the  child  to 
adopt  that  particular  syllable.” 

M.  Egger  notices  at  five  weeks  old  the  transition  from 
the  cry  to  the  voice.  The  cry  is  the  first  sound  that  the 
human  organ  makes;  it  proceeds  from  the  bottom  of  the 
larynx  and  dates  from  the  moment  of  the  first  breath. 
For  several  weeks  it  is  the  only  sound  a  child  can  make 


244  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


■when  he  is  in  pain.  “Towards  the  fifth  week  I  observe 
the  mouth  and  tongue  beginning  to  move  (especially  when 
joy  is  felt),  and  to  produce  sounds  which  cannot  be  repre¬ 
sented  by  any  letters  in  our  alphabet,  but  which  are  cer¬ 
tainly  less  guttural  than  the  previous  sounds.  These  last 
sounds,  as  they  go  on  perfecting  themselves,  become  real 
articulations.  .  .  .  With  Felix  this  distinct  utterance 

of  a  cry  of  pain  was  scarcely  heard  before  the  end  of  the 
second  month.” 

As  regards  the  infant  voice,  M.  Egger  makes  one  obser¬ 
vation  which  does  not  appear  to  me  to  be  borne  out  by 
facts;  it  is,  “that  the  voices  of  children  in  earliest  infancy 
are  not  characterized  by  an  individual  timbre.  The  voice 
acquires  a  distinct  character  at  the  same  time  that  it  be¬ 
comes  articulate,  and  that  we  can  distinguish  vowels  and 
consonants  in  it.”  I  have  no  contrary  observation  to  op¬ 
pose  to  this  statement,  but  I  read  in  a  pamphlet  of  Dr. 
Laurent’s,  that  “the  particular  timbre  of  the  infant’s  cry 
varies  like  the  human  voice.  In  each  child  it  exhibits 
particular  modifications,  which  language  cannot  express, 
but  which  the  ear  can  seize;  and  a  mother  can  distinguish 
her  own  child’s  cry  from  that  of  others.”  This  point 
then,  more  interesting  to  the  philologist  and  the  naturalist 
than  to  the  psychologist,  calls  for  fresh  information. 

M.  Egger,  like  M.  Taine,  assigns  a  large  share  in  the 
development  of  language  to  personal  initiative  and  inven¬ 
tion.  Besides  the  natural  language  of  tears,  cries,  smiles, 
and  gestures,  “which  becomes  the  commencement  of  artifi¬ 
cial  language  when  intention  is  mixed  with  it,”  he  admits 
the  involuntary  play  of  the  voice,  which,  from  the  age  of 
six  months,  causes  infinite  variety  in  the  attempted  sounds 
and  articulations.  Thus  we  seem  to  have  an  instinctive, 
natural  language,  common  to  all  times  and  all  people, 
which  recedes  gradually  before  the  progress  of  another 
language,  invented  by  the  child  and  susceptible  of  a  host 
of  individual  variations.  Neither  M.  Egger  nor  M.  Taine 
have  noted  the  forms  of  this  language,  which,  according 
to  them,  is  spontaneous.  Their  observations  have  too 
vague  and  general  a  character  for  their  conclusions  to  be 
definite.  One  must  undoubtedly  admit,  even  in  the  first 


ON  EXPRESSION  AND  LANGUAGE. 


245 


period  of  infant  babbling,  that  there  is  an  hereditary 
instinct  which  urges  the  young  nursling,  like  the  young 
bird,  to  try  its  voice,  according  to  the  measure  of  the  feeble 
resources  of  its  organs,  for  pleasure  rather  than  necessity, 
and  from  chance  rather  than  voluntary  imitation.  But 
already,  even  at  this  period,  involuntary  imitation,  organic 
sympathy,  and  musical  contagion  have  their  part  in  the 
work.  As  to  this  first  period  of  artificial  language,  par¬ 
ticular  to  each  child,  useful  for  inter-communication  with 
other  children,  and  especially  with  his  nurse  and  his  par¬ 
ents,  it  seems  to  me  rash  to  affirm,  without  the  slightest 
experimental  proof,  that  “there  is  not  one  of  his  wants  for 
which  he  does  not  invent  one  or  several  articulate  sounds, 
without  any  example  being  set  him,  intentionally  or  other¬ 
wise.” 

One  of  the  most  competent  observers,  M.  A.  de  la  Calle, 
has  just  made  a  notable  contribution  to  the  store  of  pub¬ 
lished  observations  on  the  formation  of  infant  speech. 
According  to  him  it  is  very  difficult  during  the  first  three 
months  to  observe  any  appreciable  phonetic  phenomena. 
This  difficulty,  however,  has  not  discouraged  him,  and  we 
have  his  permission  to  quote  some  of  his  important  obser¬ 
vations.  In  one  of  his  children  he  noticed  on  the  forty- 
fifth  day  a  little  bleating  sound  which  accompanied  his 
smiles ;  and  from  this  date  the  child  seemed  to  take  pleas¬ 
ure  in  exercising  his  phonetic  organ.  “At  this  period  of 
life,”  he  says,  “the  faculty  of  imitation  has  not  yet  shown 
itself,  and  one  cannot  admit  that  these  babblings  represent 
attempts  to  imitate  any  sounds  heard,  or  the  songs  with 
which  the  nurses  lull  them  to  sleep.”  He  attributes  the 
pleasure  which  the  child  finds  in  this  babbling,  which 
is  as  yet  neither  expressive  nor  musical,  rather  to  a 
combination  of  reflex  actions  associated  for  the  first  time 
with  conscious  effort.  He  has,  moreover,  remarked  that 
his  children  produced  these  babblings  with  varied  tones, 
more  particularly  under  the  influence  of  some  agreeable 
impression;  lie  adds  with  reason  :  “What  is  certain  is,  that 
these  sounds,  reiterated  and  more  or  less  continuous,  have 
more  affinity  with  the  sounds  of  laughter  than  of  tears. 
,  ,  ,  Natural  selection  ought  to  bear  principally  on  the 


246  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


sounds  expressing  agreeable  sensations,  in  virtue  of  the 
principle  that  all  pleasurable  states  mean  an  augmenta¬ 
tion  of  part  or  the  whole  of  the  vital  functions.” 

M.  de  la  Calle  has  endeavored  to  arrive  at  an  exact 
summary  of  the  variety,  number,  and  value  of  the  different 
sounds  which  a  child  utters  before  the  appearance  of  any¬ 
thing  approaching  to  an  articulate  syllable;  and  though  he 
could  only  succeed,  he  says,  in  obtaining  a  statement  of 
the  fact,  he  endeavors  to  determine  the  eight  different 
sounds  which  compose  the  musical  scale  which  a  child 
goes  through  several  times  in  a  day.  He  notes  in  the  first 
place  the  apparition  of  the  vowel  a,  which  he  calls  the 
vocal  or  sounding  cellule;  the  sound  ai,  e,  is  produced  next, 
and  sometimes  at  the  same  time,  as  an,  and  d,  which  are 
only  the  first  differentations  of  the  primitive  sound  a. 

“At  the  age  of  six  months,  Fernando  used  to  execute  a 
very  characteristic  series  of  sounds;  with  the  help  of  this 
single  sound  a  he  could  sometimes  keep  up  a  conversation 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  with  his  mother  or  nurse,  laugh¬ 
ing,  gesticulating,  and  babbling  all  on  this  same  vowel, 
which  he  varied  with  infinite  shades  of  meaning,  with 
modulations  and  particular  inflections,  and  with  a  fluidity, 
so  to  say,  which  our  organs,  stiffened  with  use,  would  be 
altogether  incapable  of.  The  intensity,  swiftness,  dura¬ 
tion,  and  pitch  of  the  sound  were  varied  by  insensible 
gradations,  with  alternations  and  repetitions  excessively 
curious  to  study. 

“A  little  later,  at  eight  or  nine  months  (and  now  he 
had  the  additional  help  of  physiognomic  and  imitative  ex¬ 
pression),  he  still  used  by  preference  this  same  vowel  a, — 
though  he  already  knew  liow  to  articulate  several  sylla¬ 
bles, — for  pointing  out,  naming,  calling,  and  asking  for 
all  sorts  of  things  and  objects:  ah  (inspiration)  signified 
astonishment  and  content;  ah  (expiration),  a  call  or  indi¬ 
cation  of  all  things  and  objects;  ha,  ha,,  ha,  very  short  and 
repeated,  to  ask  for  something  which  he  saw  and  wanted; 
hd,  hd,  sustained,  when  he  thought  something  very  pretty, 
and  to  express  admiration  generally.  lid,  lid,  hd,  to  inti¬ 
mate  a  wish  that  some  one  should  hold  his  hand  to  walk; 
sometimes  too  that  he  wanted  to  be  taken  out  of  doors, 


ON  EXPRESSION  AND  LANGUAGE. 


247 


Gestures  and  the  expression  of  the  countenance  came  in 
noticeably  to  the  help  of  his  interjections,  the  child  point¬ 
ing  out  the  desired  object,  or  else  extending  his  hand  and 
contracting  his  fingers  several  times  as  if  to  seize  it;  the 
direction  of  the  eyes  and  the  expression  of  the  look,  the 
movements  of  the  body, — in  short,  all  the  expressive 
manifestations  that  we  have  already  studied, — are  used  by 
children  with  more  or  less  skill. 

“I  have  also  remarked  that  in  certain  cases  the  sound  ai 
was  produced  at  the  same  time,  especially  on  the  higher 
notes;  but  I  have  not  been  able  to  distinguish  o  very  pure 
in  any  of  my  children.  It  was  only  when  they  were  cry¬ 
ing  that  I  ever  noticed  it,  and  then  it  was  like  a  compound 
sound  or  diphthong;  o  absolutely  pure  I  have  only  been 
able  to  observe  in  the  articulate  voice,  before  or  after  eight 
or  nine  months,  according  to  the  individual.  The  follow¬ 
ing  have  seemed  to  me  accurate  transcriptions  of  my  chil¬ 
dren’s  crying  sounds.  After  the  third  month  [the  sounds 
are  French!  d-hd,  d-hd,  d-hd,  e-lie ,  lieu!!  dli,  ah,  eeu!!  olieu , 
d-hd,  d-hd,  a-lid,  olieu!  e-lie,  e-lie,  e-lie,  d-hd,  etc.,  etc.  But 
these  cries  are  not  those  of  the  sharp  grief,  which  is  ex- 
presse  1  by  ah  or  eh!  .  .  .  always  deep  and  screech¬ 

ing. 

“This  preference,  eminently  physiological  in  children, 
for  the  vowel  a,  inspired  or  expired,  as  the  case  may  be, 
is  significant  of  the  part  that  it  plays  in  all  rudimentary 
and  primitive  tongues.  It  is  the  simple  cellule,  the  phono¬ 
logical  embryo  of  spoken  language.” 

It  would  take  too  long  to  give  even  a  simple  resume  of 
all  the  observations  made  by  M.  de  la  Calle  on  the  first 
phonations,  on  the  vowels,  diphthongs,  gutturals,  and 
labials.  We  mirst  be  content  to  mention  the  principal 
phases  of  this  evolution. 

“At  four  months  and  a  half,  he  articulated  the  first 
explosive  sound  joined  to  the  phonetic  a,  saying  dp'  pd, 
dp'  pd,  with  an  effort,  which  was  evidently  very  great,  for 
he  opened  his  eyelids  wide  and  his  eyes  became  very 
bright. 

“Some  days  after,  he  produced  the  sounds  mam’  ma, 
mam  md  with  less  effort,  or  I  should  perhaps  say  with  an 
effort  already  better  localized  in  the  organs  of  speech ;  for 


24:8  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


though  his  eyes  again  sparkled,  his  eyelids  did  not  move; 
the  effort  is  here  characterized  by  the  nasal  sound  itself, 
as  if  the  child  wanted  to  speak  and  yet  could  not.  It  is  in 
fact  the  mu-mu  of  the  deaf  and  dumb,  by  which  they  inform 
us  that  they  are  not  able,  or  do  not  know  how  to  speak. 
The  English  have  a  word  mum,  which  means,  “Hold  your 
tongue!” 

“At  five  months  he  had  in  a  slight  degree  conquered  the 
difficulty,  and  could  accomplish  the  articulation  during 
the  expiration  of  a  breath,  and  he  could  say  jinpd  (sharp), 
mdmd  (a  little  less  sharp),  hut  both  words  were  very  short 
and  staccato. 

“When  he  was  in  a  passion,  he  gave  out  a  prolonged 
stapliylin-guttural  cry,  clenching  his  fists  and  getting  very 
red  in  the  face ;  one  would  have  said  it  was  the  cry  of  a 
monkey;  but  when  he  felt  very  joyous,  or  if  any  one 
tickled  him  for  any  length  of  time,  and  his  laugh  became 
spasmodic,  the  sound  was  prolonged  from  the  expiration  to 
the  inspiration  of  the  breath,  and  he  then  produced  a 
sharp  khr-ahr,  exactly  like  the  sound  of  an  animal.  I 
myself  provoked  the  repetition  of  this  performance  two  or 
three  times  in  order  to  be  quite  certain  about  it;  then  he 
put  himself  in  a  rage  again,  pouted  his  lips,  began  to  cry, 
and  I  was  obliged  quickly  to  kiss  him  in  order  to  gain  par¬ 
don  for  my  strange  behavior.  Often,  when  he  was  happy 
and  satisfied,  but  not  over-excited,  he  would  articulate  the 
vowel  e  with  a  little  explosive  sound,  medio-lingual,  medio¬ 
palatal — ke-cke,  and  he  would  amuse  himself  by  repeating 
it  for  some  time  while  he  was  apparently  carefully  examin¬ 
ing  his  fingers  and  hands  which  he  turned  round  and 
round,  or  else  inspecting  all  over  some  object  which  had 
been  given  him  to  play  with. 

“The  modulations  were  often  changed  unconsciously 
and  without  signification;  it  was  a  vocal  exercise  which 
he  practiced  for  pleasure,  and  which  had  gradually  taken 
the  place  of  the  babblings  of  earlier  days;  but  consider¬ 
able  progress  had  been  made  by  means  of  these  articula¬ 
tions,  for  the  child  now  possessed  all  the  materials  for 
words. 

“The  sound  ke-cke  became  now  kd-ckd,  now  ak-kd,  now, 


ON  EXPRESSION  AND  LANGUAGE. 


249 


td-tcl-ta,  d-td-td,  h-bd-bd-bd ,  dd-dd-dd,  and  then  pe-pe-pe , 
be-be-be,  etc.  A  kind  of  gentle  plaint,  either  when  he  was 
worried  by  being  dressed,  or  in  any  other  way, — for 
instance,  if  he  was  hungry  and  was  made  to  wait  a  little 
for  his  food ;  aya’  ya !  aya’  ya !  aya’  ya !  was  a  differentia¬ 
tion  which  I  think  I  have  only  remarked  at  nine  months 
old;  nevertheless  I  seem  to  have  heard  it  a  good  deal 
sooner  in  my  other  children.  However  that  may  be,  this 
discovery  was  very  important  to  the  child,  and  he  was 
probably  aware  of  it,  for  he  enriched  his  language  with  a 
greater  variety  of  compound  sounds  while  making  use  of 
this  new  scale. 

“Thus,  hd-hd,  he- he,  kd-kd,  which  were  already  a  great 
advance  in  facility  of  articulation  during  expiration,  were 
varied  by  differentiating  and  lending  themselves  to  new 
phonetic  combinations;  lid  lid  became  oijd’  yd;  he  he,  eye 
eye;  led  kd;  kaya  yd  kayd  yd,  and  so  forth;  and  the  song 
would  begin  again  with  these  new  variations.” 

m. 

We  have  now  come  to  the  period  of  the  most  important 
acquisitions  of  words. 

For  more  than  a  fortnight  I  have  been  observing  a  child 
of  twelve  months  who  is  backward  in  walking,  and  can 
only  toddle  along  when  held  by  the  hand,  but  who  is  very 
precocious  in  talking.  A  month  ago  he  could  walk  alone, 
but  he  had  several  falls  and  he  is  now  afraid  to  repeat  the 
experiment,  and  if  any  one  tries  to  make  him  do  so  he  sits 
down  on  the  ground  and  says;  grid,  yno  (no,  no).  He 
knows  the  meaning  of  a  large  number  of  words  which  he 
hears,  and  he  tases  some  of  them  himself  in  the  ordinary 
sense;  he  says  pairnni,  to  ask  for  bread  (pain);  when  his 
frock  is  being  put  on,  and  he  sees  his  hand  coming  out 
through  the  sleeve,  he  calls  out  mainm.  His  brother 
Charles,  whose  games  and  mischievous  tricks  delight  him, 
he  calls  at  every  instant:  “Kiah,  kiah.”  Meat  (viande) 
he  calls  miamiam;  mene  mene  mene,  indicates  the  desire  to 
go  from  one  place  to  another;  peudu  (perdu)  indicates  an 
object  that  has  fallen,  or  been  thrown  away  or  disappeared ; 


250  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


sometimes  be  says  a  pu  fil  n'y  a  plus)  to  express  that  a 
thing  is  either  eaten,  finished,  hidden,  or  taken  away.  He 
imitates  donkeys,  cats,  cocks,  and  especially  pigs;  when 
he  wishes  very  much  to  he  taken  out  by  a  particular  person, 
and  has  gained  his  desire,  he  expresses  liis  great  pleasure 
by  mimicking  that  interesting  animal.  The  other  day,  I 
was  very  much  astonished  at  hearing  him  reproduce  the  first 
syllable  of  a  word  spoken  in  his  presence.  “Will  you 
have  some  cake  ( gdteau )  ?”  his  nurse  had  said  to  him,  and 
he  instantly  answered:  Ga,  ga,  and  directed  the  attention 
of  his  nurse  towards  the  dining-room,  the  use  of  which  he 
already  knew,  although  he  had  only  been  in  the  house  two 
days.  He  also  knows  the  meaning  of  many  of  the  simple 
phrases  which  are  used  in  speaking  to  him.  There  is  no 
occasion  to  give  examples  of  these,  which  are  analogous  to 
those  already  quoted.  But  what  is  more  important,  I 
heard  him  the  other  day  attempting  a  thoroughly  synthetic 
phrase  by  putting  two  names  together;  his  accompanying 
tones,  gestures,  and  movements  left  no  doubt  of  his  mean¬ 
ing.  He  had  been  walking  with  me  for  several  minutes, 
when  he  saw  his  mother  and  wanted  to  go  to  her,  and  as 
I  did  not  instantly  take  him  to  her,  he  pulled  hold  of  me, 
pointed  to  his  mother,  and  with  a  supplicating  look  said 
several  times:  papa — maman  (papa,  lead  me  to  mamma). 
A  little  later,  and  he  would  have  interposed  the  word  mene 
(lead)  between  the  two  names.  The  advance,  however,  was 
not  made  this  same  day,  perhaps  because  I  had  not  the 
patience  to  wait,  but  obeyed  the  child’s  wish  too  quickly. 
Besides  the  movement  of  the  head  from  left  to  right  to 
signify  no,  and  that  of  pointing  out  an  object  with  the 
hand,  I  have  noticed  another  very  characteristic  one. 
When  any  one  sings  or  plays  the  piano,  he  sways  back¬ 
wards  and  forwards  rhythmically  and  almost  in  time ;  he 
has  been  accustomed  to  do  this  since  he  was  five  months 
old;  and  he  sometimes  accompanies  the  movements  with  a 
musical  brumm. 

In  another  child,  thirteen  months  old,  I  have  noticed  an 
expressive  gesture  which  I  have  not  yet  quite  made  up  my 
mind  about.  His  parents  assure  me  that  they  have  not 
taught  him  a  movement  of  indication  with  the  forefinger, 


ON  EXPRESSION  AND  LANGUAGE. 


251 


wliich  might  he  hereditary,  or  might  proceed  by  selection 
and  simplification  from  the  act  of  prehension.  Here  is 
another  action  whose  evolutionary  origin  does  not  appear 
to  me  to  be  absolutely  demonstrated.  In  the  same  child, 
the  gesture  of  negation,  which  consisted  in  waving  the 
hand  backwards  and  forwards,  may  be  considered  in  prin¬ 
ciple  as  a  derivation  of  the  action  of  pushing  away  any 
disagreeable  thing.  Two  months  ago  there  was  no  differ¬ 
ence  between  the  movements  with  which  this  child  pushed 
away  anything  on  the  table  which  he  did  not  want,  and 
his  refusal  of  anything  that  was  offered  to  him  which  did 
not  suit  him.  At  present  he  uses  this  gesture  in  the  fol¬ 
lowing  way  also;  if  he  sees  some  one  out  of  doors  who 
reminds  him  of  his  father  or  mother,  he  considers  the 
person  attentively,  and  after  perceiving  his  mistake  he 
says:  mamma,  papa,  accompanying  the  word  with  this 
gesture  of  refusal  or  repulsion,  which  is  his  way  of  saying 
no.  The  gesture  of  the  head  meaning  yes,  he  made  at  a 
very  early  age,  I  am  told,  without  having  seen  it  made. 
It  is  a  gesture  evidently  reflex,  like  the  half-shutting  of  the 
eyelids  which  accompanies  it. 

A  little  girl,  nineteen  months  old,  has  already  accom¬ 
plished  three-quarters  of  this  important  and  relatively 
rapid  process  of  evolution,  which  is  the  initiation  into  lan¬ 
guage.  She  cannot  yet  say  any  phrases,  however  short, 
though  she  understands  the  meaning  of  a  great  many 
tolerably  long  ones;  but  she  pronounces  a  quantity  of 
words  intelligibly.  There  was  no  difficulty  in  making  her 
pass  from  inarticulate  to  articulate  sounds;  she  felt  after 
them  instinctively,  but  she  needed  the  help  of  imitation  to 
enunciate  them  easily  and  distinctly. 

Some  months  ago,  when  she  was  beginning  the  acqui¬ 
sition  of  her  vocabulary  (now  a  very  rich  one),  she  could 
only  reproduce  the  last  emphasized  syllable  of  a  word ;  and 
she  used  to  alter  its  articulation  according  to  the  rule  of 
what  was  least  effort.  It  is  noteworthy,  that  in  the 
language  of  children  as  of  primitive  races,  the  roots  or 
first  attempts  are  monosyllabic  sounds;  in  young  animals 
the  voice  itself  is  only  a  single  guttural  or  labial  intona¬ 
tion,  prolonged  or  repeated  at  short  intervals.  The  puppy 


252  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


does  not  at  once  give  forth  the  characteristic  bark  of  the 
dog,  which  the  French  represent  as  wrroua  (with  a  gut¬ 
tural  r),  nor  the  kitten  the  miaou  of  the  cat,  nor  the  young 
liouse-sparrow  or  swallow,  their  kiou-Mou  or  tyi  tyiri. 
Their  first  vocal  attempts  are  rudely  simple  and  monosyl¬ 
labic.  The  same  with  children;  they  more  easily  pro¬ 
nounce  reduplicated  monosyllables,  as  in  papa,  mama,  than 
dissyllables  such  as  ydteau,  minet.  They  will  sometimes 
even  bring  out  diphthongs,  which  are  varieties  of  monosyl¬ 
lables  like  oua,  mia,  mie,  etc.  For  a  long  time  they  rebel 
against  real  dissyllables,  and  still  longer  against  polysyl¬ 
lables.  For  a  long  time  this  little  girl,  whom  I  have  ob¬ 
served  ever  since  her  birth,  up  to  the  twenty-second 
month,  but  unfortunately  without  noting  each  step  of 
her  progress,  could  only  say  bou  for  tambour,  fe  for  cafe,  ye 
for  Pierre,  etc.  By  perseveringly  separating  each  syllable 
for  her  very  clearly,  her  mother  at  last  succeeded  in  mak¬ 
ing  her  pronounce  the  distinct  syllables  of  the  words. 
The  mother  repeated  slowly  and  distinctly,  tambour, 
Georyet,  pomme,  pain,  ydteau  ;  and  after  a  considerable 
number  of  fruitless  lessons,  the  little  pupil  succeeded  in 
articulating,  a-bou,  o-ye,  om,  pai,  a-teau,  etc.  It  was  the 
same  with  a  number  of  other  words,  which  she  now  pro¬ 
nounces  distinctly  enough,  save  for  the  modifications  of 
the  consonants,  which  vary  with  every  child.  There  are 
no  rules  in  children’s  pronunciation  of  the  sounds  which 
they  imitate.  A  child  of  fifteen  months  who  says  a-tu  for 
bateau,  for  ydteau  says  ca-co  or  cacou,  or  even  a-ca-cou, 
when  in  a  very  voluble  mood.  He  says  tu-tu  for  tortue 
(tortoise),  and  also  for  comfiture  (jam).  The  same  syllable 
pronounced  in  one  way,  in  one  word,  is  often  pronounced 
differently  in  another  word,  or  doubled,  or  augmented  by 
a  useless  syllable. 

In  general,  we  see  clearly  in  infant  language,  the  appli¬ 
cation  of  certain  rules  which  philosophy  has  long  recog¬ 
nized  in  the  transformations  of  language;  and  among 
others,  the  modifications  produced  by  the  tendency  of  in¬ 
dividuals  to  diminish  the  muscular  efforts  of  pronuncia¬ 
tion.  It  is  a  very  common  thing  in  France  among  French 
people  to  hear  particulier  pronounced  like  particiiyer, 


ON  EXPRESSION  AND  LANGUAGE. 


253 


cuiller  like  cmje ;  and  this  tendency  to  pronounce  II  like  xj 
is  on  the  increase,  by  virtue  of  the  law  of  the  least 
effort. 

In  the  like  manner  children  begin  by  pronouncing  the 
consonants  which  are  easiest  to  articulate,  and  they  modify 
them  little  by  little  in  proportion  as  their  organs  become 
stronger  and  more  practiced. 

Mr.  F.  Pollock  has  been  one  of  the  first  to  try  and 
systematize  in  phonetic  as  well  as  logical  order  the  first 
infant  gropings  after  language.  His  interesting  study  on 
the  “  The  Child’s  Progress  in  Language,”  comprehends 
the  period  between  the  twelfth  and  the  twenty-fourth 
month.  We  quote  here  the  most  essential  points:  — 

“ Age,  twelve  months.  M-m  often  repeated!  baba,  re¬ 
peated  an  indefinite  number  of  times. 

“  M-m  generally  indicated  a  want  of  something.  Bd  bd 
was  (1)  a  sort  of  general  demonstrative,  standing  for  the 
child  herself,  other  people  or  the  cat  (I  do  not  think  she 
applied  it  to  inanimate  objects);  (2)  an  interjection,  ex¬ 
pressing  satisfaction.  Both  sounds,  however,  seemed  often 
to  be  made  without  distinct  intention,  as  mere  exercise  of 
the  vocal  organs. 

“  Thirteen  months.  Da  dd  was  used,  at  first  as  a  vague 
demonstrative  (and  about  six  weeks  later  it  became  a  dis¬ 
tinct  proper  name  for  the  child’s  father).  Wa  wa,  meant 
water,  drink ;  wah  wah,  with  a  gutteral  sound  distinct  from 
the  foregoing,  was  said  to  figures  of  animals — dogs  or  cats, 
which  she  now  recognized  in  pictures.  This  fact  is  curi¬ 
ous,  having  regard  to  the  inability  of  adult  savages,  as  re¬ 
ported  by  travellers,  to  make  anything  of  even  the  simplest 
representations  of  objects.  Nd-nd,  signified  nurse — of 
course  as  proper,  not  generic  name. 

“Fifteen  months.  M-m  discontinued.  Bd  bd  was 
sometimes  used  instead,  and  sometimes  she  simply  cried 
for  a  desired  object.  IV ah  wah,  miau,  soon  became  generic 
names  of  dog  and  cat  ( wah  wah,  which  at  first  included 
cat,  becoming  appropriated  to  dog).  I  think,  however, 
wah  wah  would  include  any  middling-sized  quadruped 
other  than  a  cat  or  a  sheep.  As  to  cat,  her  name  for  it 
became  a  few  months  later  aya-m  or  ay-dm,  which,  so  far 


254  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


as  I  know,  she  invented  for  herself.  The  conventional 
‘  gee  gee  ’  for  horse  was  very  soon  understood  by  her. 
though  she  could  not  form  the  j  sound.  She  recognized 
a  zebra  in  a  picture  alphabet  as  ‘gee  gee’  and  showed 
marked  dissent  when  told  it  was  a  zebra. 

“  These  imitative  sounds  were  all  learnt  on  the  sugges¬ 
tion  of  adults,  but  studied  from  the  real  sounds;  for,  as 
made  by  the  child,  they  are  decidedly  nearer  to  the  real 
sounds  than  the  baa  baa,  etc.,  used  by  adult  voices. 

“‘Baby’  (or  rather  be  hi),  was  now  formed  with  fair 
success,  but  soon  dropped  for  a  time.  About  a  month 
afterwards  it  was  resumed,  and  became  the  child’s  name 
for  herself.  This  was  long  before  she  attempted  any 
other  dissyllable.  It  was  pronounced,  however,  rather  as 
a  reduplicated  monosyllable. 

“  Seventeenth  to  eighteenth  month.  Her  vocabulary  is 
now  increasing  fast,  and  almost  any  word  proposed  to  the 
child  is  imitated  with  some  real  effort  at  correctness.  The 
range  of  articulate  sounds  is  still  very  limited;  a,  d,  i 
(short  and  long)  are  the  only  vowels  fully  under  command; 
d  occurs  in  a  few  words,  and  is  the  result  of  attempts  to 
form  o :  thus,  nd  =  nose.  The  long  sound  of  English  i 
(i ai )  cannot  be  pronounced;  when  she  tries  to  imitate  it, 
she  says  id  or  i-a.  No  approach  is  yet  made  to  the  pecu¬ 
liar  short  English  sound  of  a  in  such  words  as  hat,  bat.  Of 
consonants,  g,  I,  r  (the  true  consonant  initial  sound),  the 
final  semi-vowel,  as  in  more,  poor,  is  easy  enough  to  her, 
and  sibilants,  aspirates,  and  palatals  are  not  yet  mastered. 
‘  Guy  ’  (a  younger  cousin’s  name)  is  called  dd  produced  far 
hack  in  the  mouth ;  k  is  also  produced  far  back  in  the 
mouth,  with  an  approach  to  t.  Final  consonants  are 
seldom  or  never  given.  With  the  exception  of  ‘  baby  ’ 
nd-ni,  nd-na,  the  vocabulary  is  essentially  monosyllabic. 
She  once  said  ‘  lady  ’  pretty  well,  hut  did  not  take  it  into 
use.  No  construction  is  yet  attempted.  But  even  with 
these  resources  the  child  already  contrives  to  express  a 
good  deal,  filling  up  the  meaning  of  her  syllables  with  a 
great  variety  of  tone,  and  also  with  inarticulate  interjec¬ 
tions.  Impatience,  satisfaction,  amusemeut,  are  all  very 


ON  EXPEESSION  AND  LANGUAGE. 


255 


well  marked ;  and  perhaps  even  intellectual  dissent  (in  the 
case  of  ‘zebra’  and  ‘gee  gee’),  see  previous  page.” 

Amongst  other  acquisitions  (from  fifteenth  to  nineteenth 
month)  we  may  notice  the  word  poor,  with  no  appreciable 
difference  from  ordinary  adult  pronunciation,  and  which 
was  taught  as  an  expression  of  pity,  but  extended  to  mean 
any  kind  of  loss,  damage,  or  imperfection  in  an  object,  real 
or  supposed. 

“Nineteen  months. — 0  sound  now  distinctly  made,  and 
g  distinct  by  the  end  of  the  month.  ‘Guy’  is  now  ga  in¬ 
stead  of  da.  L  and  t,  final,  and  even  p,  are  pronounced 
more  or  less  distinctly.  The  monosyllabic  form  still  pre¬ 
vails.  K  is  a  favorite  sound,  and  she  has  several  words 
formed  with  it  which  are  kept  carefully  distinct.  Ku— 
stool,  kali  (later  lead)— cod  [liver  oil],  which  she  considers 
a  treat.  7io=‘cosy’ (or  tea-pot),  M=cold.  Kdka—choc,- 
olate,  Ichien,  or  klien, =clcan.  .  .  .  S,  sh,  ch,  j,  are  on 

the  whole  indistinct.  .  .  .  W,  v,  f,  are  now  formed, 

but  not  well  distinguished.”  (Mr.  Pollock  thinks,  with  M. 
Taine,  that  infant  pronunciation  has  some  shades  which 
escape  adult  ears.) 

“Twenty  months. — Dash  or  d«.sA-=dust,  Ta’sh  or  td'sli, 
learnt,  I  think,  from  ‘  touch  ’  but  soon  dropped.  Task, 
however,  is  adopted  for  [mousjtache.  Final  sibilants  are 
more  under  command  than  initial.  ...  A  sudden 
advance  made  to  dissyllables,  several  being  produced  with 
success  on  or  about  the  same  day.  Fanny,  honey,  money; 
fd-wd ,  flower;  la-ta,  letters;  ha-pi,  happy;  hd-ta,  butter; 
A’-si,  Alice.  R  is  still  very  impracticable,  and  attempts  to 
form  it  sometimes  give  d;  but  this  was  very  transient,  and  1 
soon  became  the  constant  substitute.  .  .  .”  (I  omit  a 

few  other  stages  of  progress  of  the  same  kind,  to  pass  on  to 
two  or  three  more  important  ones,  between  the  twenty-first 
and  twenty-second  months).  “The  child  is  now  more  or 
less  able  to  answer  direct,  as  distinguished  from  leading 
questions.  Thus,  when  she  had  been  paying  a  visit  to  some 
relations  and  cried  to  go  home,  she  gave  afterwards  (March 
17)  a  pretty  connected  account  of  it  in  monosyllabic 

answers.  ‘What  did  you  do  to-day  at - ?’  ‘  Klai,' 

(cry).  ‘  What  did  you  cry  for?’  ‘  Ham,'  (home).  Also, 


256  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


when  told  not  to  handle  a  forbidden  object,  such  as  a  knife, 
she  will  say,  in  a  tone  of  intelligent  acquiescence ;  no — dd-dd 
(i.  e.,  I  may  not  have  that,  but  dd-dd  may).  One  trisylla¬ 
ble  is  in  common  use:  Tenm=Tennyson,  an  illustrated 
edition  which  divides  her  attention  with  Vats  (Watts). 

“At  twenty-one  months  I  noticed  a  distinct  attempt  at 
grammatical  construction,  by  the  use  of  a  real  predicate  so 
as  to  form  a  complete  proposition.  The  child  had  been 
told,  half  in  joke,  that  cabs  were  dirty  as  compared  with 
her  perambulator.  For  some  days  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  say  ‘dirty’  on  the  mention  of  perambulator.  Now  she 
made  the  whole  statement  for  herself;  Kabz  dati,  Mam  Min, 
(Cabs  dii%,  peram’ clean).  .  .  .  (We  must  also  notice 

progress  with  regard  to  generic  names.) 

“Twenty-two  months. — Vocabulary  and  power  of  expres¬ 
sion  are  gradually  and  steadily  extending.  Zhdtis  is  often 
said  for  ‘There  it  is;’  ‘Out-pull-baby-pecs  (spectacles);  ‘Run 
away,  man;’  ‘Mamma  get  Bessie’  (her  doll).  .  .  .  The 
consonants  ch,j,  and  th  are  still  imperfect,  and  consonantal 
r  is  not  yet  formed  at  all.  .  .  .”  Mr.  Pollock  also 

records  some  expressions  indicative  of  the  dramatic  faculty 
in  the  child,  and  he  adds:  “I  may  observe  on  this,  that  I 
have  no  reason  to  doubt  that  all  the  play  with  her  doll  is 
purely  and  consciously  dramatic,  not  animistic;  in  other 
words,  I  have  seen  nothing  to  indicate  a  belief  that  the 
doll  is  really  alive;  nor  is  there,  so  far  as  I  can  observe, 
any  tendency  to  attribute  life  to  other  inanimate  objects.  I 
think  the  child  is  perfectly  aware  of  the  difference  between 
animals  and  things,  though  I  am  unable  to  give  specific 
reason  for  this  impression.”  1 

(At  this  age  there  appears  a  decided  tendency  to  imita¬ 
tion  of  grown-up  people’s  actions,  and  to  asking  questions.) 

“Twenty-three  months. — The  palatals,  dental  aspirates, 
and  the  peculiar  English  short  a  (as  in  ‘  hat  ’)  are  still  im¬ 
perfect,  and  r  is  represented  by  l.  When  s  comes  before 
another  consonant,  one  of  the  two  is  dropped.  K  is  in 
some  words  confused  with p  or  t.  She  says  olcen  for  ‘open.’ 
kek  for  ‘take,’  .  .  .”  etc. 


1  See  Mind,  July,  1878,  vol.  iii.,  pp.  392-395. 


ON  EXPRESSION  AND  LANGUAGE. 


257 


M.  de  la  Calle  also  has  just  added  to  this  branch  of 
study  a  useful  contribution  of  personal  researches,  which 
are  all  the  more  valuable  as  he  explains  the  facts  collected 
by  the  scientific  laws  of  language.  We  quote  as  fol¬ 
lows: — 

“I  have  observed,  for  instance,  an  absolutely  constant 
fact :  Hard  consonants  are  very  difficult  for  a  child  to  pro¬ 
nounce  simultaneously  in  the  same  word ;  he  will  suppress 
the  one  and  change  the  other,  or  perhaps  replace  both,  if 
they  require  hard  expiration,  by  an  analogous  sound  with 
soft  expiration.  They  will  often  insert  a  vowel  sound  be¬ 
tween  the  two.  This  proceeding  reminds  us  of  the  theory 
admitted  by  philologists,  that  certain  double  consonants 
must  have  been  originally  separated  by  vowels  and  after¬ 
wards  have  become  re-united,  sometimes  even  fused  in  one, 
like  the  Greek  <p  (psi) ,  and  the  Latin  x  (gs). 

“  I  have  also  remarked  this  same  process  in  the  separa¬ 
tion  of  diphthongs  by  an  interpolated  consonant,  sometimes 
amounting  to  a  sort  of  harmonious  reiteration  of  the 
altered  syllables;  transposition  and  contraction  are  also 
very  frequent.  For  instance,  I  find  in  my  journal  that 
Adolphus  at  the  age  of  twenty-two  months  said  cou  for 
clou,  ot-tci  for  ote-toi,  cloute  for  c route,  toujer  for  tuer,  bau- 
r/rete  for  brouette,  lijf  for  livre,  anoir  for  armoire ,  la-lo  for 
Ih-haut.  Then  rghouise  for  nourrice,  (/ouaselle  for  mademoi¬ 
selle,  acquelocque  for  enveloppe,  cacquctte  for  casquette,  poet- 
erre  for  pomme  de  ter  re.  Corresponding  phenomena  are  re¬ 
corded  concerning  the  language  of  the  eldest  girl.  Pepita 
used  to  say  lache  for  vaclie,  loture  for  voiture,  chelal  for  che- 
val,  zdme  for  dame,  zenetre  for  fenetre,  aristrocate  for  aris- 
tocrate,  pa  pi  bo  for  pas  puis  beau,  les  sansan  for  les  enfants. 
Another  little  girl  whom  I  observed  at  about  the  same  age 
used  to  say  les  fan  fans;  but  the  harmonic  phenomenon  in 
the  alteration  was  identical. 

“The  confusion  of  l  and  r  is  also  a  characteristic  phe¬ 
nomenon  of  infant  language;  children  often  mechanically 
change  or  replace  the  one  by  the  other ;  but  it  is  the  great 
difficulty  in  the  pronunciation  of  the  r  which  we  are  spe¬ 
cially  concerned  with  here.  This  consonant,  pronounced 
by  a  vibration  of  the  tip  of  the  tongue  against  the  middle 
18 


258  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


of  tlie  palate,  requires  a  certain  amount  of  muscular  exer¬ 
cise,  and  is  not  mastered  till  much  later.  I  have  noticed 
that  children  begin  by  sounding  it  in  the  middle  of  words, 
then  at  the  end,  and  finally  when  it  is  initial.  But  for  a 
long  time  there  will  he  confusion  between  these  two  letters, 
and  sometimes  Z  will  he  substituted  for  r,  sometimes  r  for  Z. 
This  reminds  me  that  in  certain  romanized  Latin  words 
this  tendency  to  confusion  of  r  and  Z  has  produced  some 
alterations  which  have  been  set  down  to  an  etymological 
law,  such  as  chapitre  from  capitulum;  pupitre  from  pulpit- 
um;  epitre  from  epistola ;  apdtre  from  apostolus;  and,  vice 
versd,  peregrinus  has  become  pelerin.  It  appears,  also,  that 
the  ancient  Egyptians  did  not  very  clearly  distinguish  be¬ 
tween  these  two  consonants.” 

M.  de  la  Calle  has  also  gone  into  the  interesting  question 
of  the  primitiveness  of  monosyllabism.  Contrary  to  the 
ideas  which  obtain  at  the  present  day  among  philologists, 
he  has  observed  in  his  three  children,  “that  monosylla¬ 
bism  is  no  more  than  pollysyllabism,  an  absolutely  con¬ 
stant  phenomenon.” 

The  words  which  children  retain  most  easily,  are  those 
which  express  the  most  salient  qualities  of  things,  or  those 
parts  of  them  which  produce  the  dominant  impression. 
Thus,  a  little  girl  of  twenty  months,  when  I  took  off  my 
hat  and  said  to  her,  “What  is  it?”  answered  “bonuet"( cap). 
This  is  her  generalized  name  for  every  kind  of  head-gear, 
masculine  or  feminine;  it  is  an  object  which  has  often  at¬ 
tracted  her  attention  on  her  mother’s  head,  and  on  her 
own,  when  she  looks  at  herself  in  the  glass.  She  calls  the 
carafe,  ve  (verve),  while  a  bottle  of  wine  is  a  lit  (litre);  the 
word  verve  designating  a  quality  which  has  struck  her  both 
in  the  tumblers  and  the  decanter,  while  the  bottle, 
although  also  glass,  appears  to  her  under  a  very  different 
aspect.  She  also  calls  a  little  medicine-bottle  which  hardly 
holds  a  decilitre,  lit.  Her  general  idea  of  glass  will  go  on 
enlarging  every  day,  while  that  of  litre  will  gradually  con¬ 
tract  as  she  gains  fresh  experiences. 

A  little  child  of  two  and  a  half  calls  all  dogs  oua-oua, 
except  his  grandfather’s  dog  Cambo,  although  he  cannot 
pronounce  this  name :  he  does  not  class  him  with  the  ordi- 


ON  EXPRESSION  AND  LANGUAGE. 


259 


nary  oua-uuas.  He  also  gives  this  name  to  all  his  wooden 
toy  animals — the  dog,  goat,  wolf,  hyena,  and  lion.  But 
when  I  called  a  stuffed  lion  an  oua-oua,  he  seemed  puzzled, 
and  looked  at  me  as  if  he  thought  I  was  mistaken.  Though 
he  can  quite  well  distinguish  donkeys  and  horses  and  oxen 
in  the  street,  in  his  wooden  menagerie  they  are  all  called 
mod  (ox).  The  other  day  I  had  set  him  up  on  my  table, 
with  a  pencil  in  his  hand  and  a  piece  of  paper  before  him. 
I  drew  for  him  roughly  the  outline  of  a  quadruped,  and  he 
instantly  said  mod,  thus  showing  that  it  is  the  dominant 
impressions  which  translate  themselves,  as  general  and 
individual  ideas,  into  the  words  most  easily  and  firmly 
retained.  Other  words  are  useless  to  the  child;  they  do 
not  interest  him,  and  signify  nothing  to  him.  If  he  is 
forced  to  learn  them  like  a  parrot,  he  forgets  them  more 
easily  than  those  which  represent  something  to  his  intelli¬ 
gence. 

These  facts  show  that  we  should  he  much  mistaken  in 
considering  rapidity  of  progress  in  speaking — setting  aside 
the  question  of  the  organs — as  a  sign  of  precocious  intelli¬ 
gence;  the  contrary  indeed  seems  to  me  often  true.  I 
have  noticed  remarkable  backwardness  in  respect  to  the 
exercise  of  speech,  in  several  children  of  both  sexes,  born 
of  cultured  parents,  who  expressed  themselves  with  great 
ease.  The  father  of  one  of  these  even  confided  to  me  his 
great  fear  lest  his  child  would  be  dumb  or  partly  dumb, 
because  at  the  age  of  thirteen  months  he  could  hardly 
stammer  out  two  or  three  words.  This  child  began  to 
speak  late,  and  he  took  his  time  even  then  in  learning; 
but  when  three  years  old,  the  little  man  had  a  vocabulary 
as  rich  as  it  was  accurate,  and  expressed  himself  with 
very  great  facility  and  precision.  I  could  quote  many 
similar  examples ;  and  it  seems  to  me,  therefore,  that  the 
more  intelligent  a  child  is,  the  less  he  uses  words,  the 
more  necessary  is  it  to  him  that  words  should  signify 
something  if  he  is  to  learn  them,  and  this  is  why  ho  only 
learns  words  in  proportion  as  he  gains  ideas  about  objects. 
With  children  of  little  intelligence,  hut  who  are  gifted 
with  flexible  organs  and  with  a  memory  in  advance  of 
their  judgment,  words  precede  ideas,  and  often  take  their 


2(30  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


place;  they  are  retained  as  sounds  and  associations  of 
sounds,  rather  than  as  representations  of  personal  ideas. 
And  thus,  when  the  children  come  to  understand  the 
sense  of  these  words  so  long  pronounced  for  their  sound, 
they  find  that  their  minds  are  filled  with  other  people’s 
ideas,  whereas  more  intelligent  children,  slow  in  learning 
to  speak,  have  got  a  large  store  of  original  ideas,  which 
have  come  to  them,  not  through  the  channel  of  words,  but 
by  means  of  direct  observation  and  experience. 

Besides  the  habit  of  parrot-like  repetition,  which  I  have 
explained  as  being  caused  by  the  fact  that  certain  ideas 
and  sounds  take  possession  of  children,  we  may  also 
notice  in  the  most  intelligent  of  them  a  mania  for  jabber¬ 
ing  strings  of  syllables  without  any  meaning,  jumbled  to¬ 
gether  at  hazard.  A  little  girl,  two  years  and  two  months 
old,  went  on  repeating  from  morning  to  night  for  a  fort¬ 
night,  toro ,  tore,  toro,  rapapi,  rapapi,  rapapi,  a  rhythmic 
monotone  which  caused  her  great  delight.  Another  child, 
nearly  three  years  old,  has  a  stock  of  such  refrains,  which 
he  either  speaks  or  screams,  and  which  he  sometimes 
produces  for  fun  in  answer  to  any  one  speaking  to  him. 
For  three  months  he  went  on  repeating  these  three 
syllables,  articulated  in  a  sonorous  voice,  tabille,  tabille, 
tabille.  No  one  understood  the  meaning  of  them,  nor  did 
they  seem  to  have  any  meaning  for  him.  His  father  con¬ 
fided  to  me  his  anxiety  as  to  the  child’s  intelligence.  “I 
do  not  know  if  I  am  mistaken,”  he  said,  “but  I  am  less 
satisfied  with  his  intelligence  than  I  was.  Formerly  he 
seemed  to  be  observing  and  thoughtful;  but  perhaps  this 
was  only  a  passing  and  deceptive  ray  of  light.  I  now  find 
him  heedless  and  incapable  of  attention,  or  of  following 
out  an  idea.  Sometimes  I  fear  that  his  brain  is  soften¬ 
ing.”  I  succeeded  in  reassuring  the  father  by  giving  him 
the  following  explanation  of  his  child’s  jabbering  propen¬ 
sity:  The  feebleness  of  his  intellectual  organs,  over¬ 
exerted  at  the  time  of  his  first  attempts  at  speaking,  cause 
him  to  seek  rest  and  amusement  in  these  mechanical 
babblings  without  any  sense,  which  he  has  no  trouble  in 
producing,  and  which  do  not  excite  his  brain,  and  which, 
moreover,  charm  and  please  his  ear.  Savages,  in  like 


ON  EXPRESSION  AND  LANGUAGE. 


261 


manner,  will  go  on  for  several  hours  at  a  time  making  a 
monotonous  melopoeia,  whose  easy  rhythm  distracts  their 
minds  from  care,  and  allows  their  imagination  to  disport 
itself  agreeably.  It  is  no  doubt,  for  a  similar  reason,  that 
the  dreamy  and  idle  peasants  in  the  south  of  Europe, 
while  watching  their  flocks  or  working  in  their  fields,  will 
repeat  either  a  song,  or  a  couplet,  or  a  refrain,  a  hundred 
times  in  the  same  afternoon.  This  is  habitual,  agreeable, 
and  easy  to  them;  a  triple  reason  why  they  delight  in  the 
practice.  There  is  nothing  in  this  meaningless  reiteration 
to  cause  anxiety  with  regard  to  children,  when  it  does  not 
fill  up  all  their  time.  It  merely  distracts  them  and  relieves 
the  fatigue  of  their  brain. 

It  is  a  universal  fact  that  children  always  take  hold  of 
the  superficial  qualities  of  things  rather  than  their  sub¬ 
stance,  of  the  simple  rather  than  the  complex,  of  what  is 
easy  before  what  is  more  difficult.  Thus  we  find  them 
more  apt  at  imitating  the  emotional  tone,  the  emphasis, 
and  the  most  sonorous  syllables  of  words,  than  the  entire 
words.  I  have  already  said,  their  attention  and  powers  of 
enunciation  are  chiefly  directed  to  accentuated  syllables 
and  terminations.  “If  a  child  is  not  able  to  reproduce  a 
phrase  it  has  just  heard,  it  will  at  any  rate  reproduce  the 
emphasis,  which  is,  as  it  were,  its  music.  If  we  try  to 
teach  a  child  the  habit  of  expressing  thanks  for  anything 
he  receives,  and  if  he  cannot  repeat  the  phrase  of  thanks 
that  is  taught  him,  he  sings  it  without  words,  or  at  any 
rate  without  the  consonants,  and  generally  on  a  single 
vowel.” 1 

Philologists  who  have  studied  children,  mention  a  num¬ 
ber  of  similar  facts,  all  of  which  they  refer  to  the  general 
laws  which  govern  the  formation  of  languages.  We  would 
specially  refer  our  readers  to  two  philologists,  already 
cited,  M.  Egger  and  M.  de  La  Calle,  in  wdiose  works  they 
will  find  an  abundant  collection  of  valuable  observations 
on  the  progressive  evolution  of  infant  logic  and  dialect, 
showing  the  gradual  extension  and  generalization  of  the 
meaning  of  the  words  they  have  learnt ;  their  first  attempts 


1  E.  Efteer,  op.  cit. 


262  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


in  the  art  of  forming  phrases  without  the  use  of  the  verb 
to  be,  hy  the  simple  juxtaposition  of  a  noun,  a  pronoun,  or 
an  attribute;  the  inflexible  logic  of  analogy,  which  makes 
them  confuse  in  their  mind  the  thing,  the  person,  and  the 
action,  so  that  they  soon  begin  to  designate  them  hy  uni¬ 
form  and  general  appellations;  the  incoherence  and  in- 
defiuiteness  of  their  notions  of  time  and  mood,  of  number 
and  of  person,  which  makes  them  first  use  all  verbs  in  the 
infinitive,  and  afterwards,  by  dint  of  analogy,  put  them  in 
the  times  and  persons  used  by  those  who  are  speaking  to 
them,  i.  e.,  taking  the  second  person  for  the  first,  and  the 
first  for  the  second;  and  so  forth.  On  all  these  cases  of 
progressive  and  parallel  development,  often  contradictory 
in  appearance,  the  writers  above  mentioned  have  contrib¬ 
uted  valuable  information. 


CHAPTER  XH. 

THE  AESTHETIC  SENSE  IN  LITTLE  CHILDREN. 

I. 

THE  MUSICAL  SENSE. 

As  soon  as  a  child  begins  to  distinguish  sounds  clearly, 
we  notice  that  some  appear  to  please  and  others  to  dis¬ 
please  him;  this  may  arise  either  from  the  fact  that  par¬ 
ticular  tones  correspond  to  certain  conformations  in  the 
child’s  acoustic  apparatus,  or,  by  virtue  of  hereditary  pre¬ 
disposition,  to  certain  innate  conditions  of  his  personality. 
We  have  also  said  that  children  very  easily  accommodate 
themselves  to  sounds  which  are  very  disagreeable  to  adults, 
provided  they  possess  some  sort  of  rhythm,  however  rude. 
In  short,  we  have  traced  in  young  children  the  awakening 
of  a  kind  of  musical  sentiment,  manifested  either  by  their 
rhythmic  movements  and  joyous  expression  of  face  when 
anyone  sings  or  plays  on  the  piano,  or  by  the  evident  enjoy¬ 
ment  with  which  they  imitate  the  cry  of  an  animal  or  the 
song  of  a  person.  We  must  now  endeavor  to  define  these 
indications  more  precisely,  and  to  show  the  genesis  and 
the  nature  of  the  musical  sense  in  young  children. 

The  primary  element  of  musical  impressions  lies  in  the 
emotional  character  of  the  sounds.  The  vibrations  of 
matter  transmit  themselves  to  the  ear  under  the  form  of 
sounds.  In  these  sounds  then  the  ear  seizes  certain  vibra¬ 
tions  of  the  bodies  producing  them,  something,  i.  e.,  of 
their  life,  so  to  speak.  It  is,  first  and  foremost,  this  ex- 

263 


204  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


pressive  power  of  the  inner  nature  of  things  which 
awakens  sympathetic  sentiments  in  the  hearer;  and  with 
it  are  combined  the  three  essential  characteristics  of  sound 
— pitch,  intensity,  and  tone,  and  the  quality  resulting  from 
the  duration  of  the  note,  rhythm,  measure,  and  movement. 
In  proportion  as  the  pitch  is  high,  a  note  or  sound  be¬ 
comes  more  distinct,  more  striking,  and,  within  certain 
limits,  more  agreeable.  The  medium  intensity  between  a 
feeble  sound  which  is  hardly  perceptible  to  the  auditory 
nerves,  and  a  violent  one  which  shocks  them,  is  also  pro¬ 
ductive  of  agreeable  sensations  for  the  ear.  The  subtle 
relations  of  tone  and  feeling  afford  one  of  the  most  power¬ 
ful  means  of  expression.  With  regard  to  rhythm,  which 
is  both  a  soothing  and  a  stirring  influence,  though  it 
strikes  the  nerves  as  a  shock,  its  periodicity  and  order  ap¬ 
peal  to  the  intelligence. 

Let  us  examine  the  first  manifestations  of  musical  senti¬ 
ment  in  children  on  the  lines  of  these  aesthetic  principles. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  the  pleasure  they  experience  in 
listening  to  singing  or  pianoforte  playing  springs  from  all 
the  causes  we  have  enumerated  above;  the  human  voice 
pleases  in  itself,  and  so  in  a  lesser  degree  does  the  sound 
of  an  instrument,  because  both  convey  a  vague  expression 
of  existence.  But  this  expressive  character  of  music  is 
very  confusedly  apprehended  by  infants  or  animals.  I  doubt 
even  whether,  before  the  age  of  six  weeks,  a  child  distin¬ 
guishes  at  all  clearly  the  tones  of  caressing,  of  pity,  or  of 
affection,  from  those  of  calling,  threatening,  command,  or 
anger;  he  soon  arrives  at  understanding  them,  thanks  to 
the  inherited  powers  of  adaptation  in  which  his  organization 
is  so  rich ;  but  the  differences  he  feels  in  them  at  first  are 
physical  rather  than  moral.  It  is  necessary  that  associa¬ 
tions  of  ideas  of  pleasure  and  well-being,  of  pain  and  un¬ 
easiness  should  intervene  in  the  development  of  these 
functions,  latent  in  the  organization.  By  the  time  a  child 
is  three  months  old  a  slight  advance  has  already  been  made 
in  this  direction.  The  child  begins  to  distinguish  with 
clearness  and  witli  pleasure  certain  sounds  which  to  him 
are  expressive;  but  he  is  quite  indifferent  to  others, 
whether  clear,  harsh,  or  grave,  which  on  an  adult  would 


THE  MUSICAL  SENSE. 


265 


produce  either  pleasure  or  painful  impressions.  The  tone* 
of  authority  and  anger  in  his  nurse’s  voice  (and  still  more 
in  his  father)  are  clearly  distinguished  hy  the  child  from 
those  of  coaxing  or  fun.  If  light,  sharp  sounds  enliven 
him,  it  is  more  on  account  of  their  pitch  than  their  timbre. 
But  sounds  of  all  sorts,  sharp  or  flat,  intense  or  feeble, 
impressive  or  not,  give  him  pleasure,  provided  they  are 
accompanied  by  rhythm. 

Of  these  different  musical  elements  those  which  will 
have  made  most  way  by  the  age  of  six  months,  are  those 
which  appeal  in  some  sort  to  physical  sensibility.  I  mean 
to  say,  that  sounds  which  transmit  to  our  nervous  system 
the  very  vibrations  of  the  matter  itself  will  be  more  differ¬ 
entiated  and  more  keenly  felt  by  (lie  ear.  It  is  the  same 
with  the  sonorous  vibrations  which  not  only  affect  the 
tympanum  but  which  shake  the  whole  body  more  or  less 
strongly.1  Sweet  and  clear  sounds,  or  harsh,  jingling 
ones,  always  please  children  in  themselves ;  but  they  please 
them  much  more  when  they  are  rhythmic  or  reiterated.  A 
child  placed  close  to  a  grand  organ  will  cry  and  writhe 
under  the  sonorous  vibrations  which  shake  its  whole  body; 
the  noise  of  a  drum  very  near  has  often  the  same  effect. 
But  heard  a  little  way  off,  the  same  sound,  softened  by 
distance,  will  please  him  immensely.  Thus  it  is  the  strik¬ 
ing  forms  of  emotional  music  rather  than  its  expression, 
the  purely  physical  percussions  and  sensations  of  sound, 
and  above  all  the  physical  excitement  produced  by  the 
mechanical  excitation  of  sound,  that  a  child  of  six  months 
feels  the  most  keenly. 

At  this  early  period  it  would  be  premature  to  look  for 
genuine  musical  intentions  in  the  first  monotonous  bab¬ 
blings  which  children  seem  to  make  with  no  other  motive 
than  delight  in  the  exercise  of  their  little  voices.  The 
utmost  we  can  admit  is,  that  lively  airs  and  harmonious 
sounds  produce  more  marked  impressions  on  them  than 
do  grave,  sweet,  and  even  melodious  sounds;  and  that 
their  irregularly  rhythmic  utterances,  vaguely  and  feebly 


1  G.  Gu^roult,  Du  Dole  du  Movvement  dans  'es  Emotions  Esthetiques. 
Revue  Philo  sop  hique,  Juin,  1881. 


266  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


expressed,  are  perhaps  an  attempt  to  reproduce  those 
sounds  which  please  them.  There  is  no  doubt  that  in 
addition  to  the  immediate  pleasure  of  exercising  the  vocal 
organs,  there  comes  in  a  vague  discernment  of  the  variety 
of  sounds,  a  subtle  sense  of  pleasure  in  this  variety,  and 
the  still  more  subtle  pleasure  of  attempting  to  imitate 
sounds — his  nurse’s  voice  when  singing,  or  the  notes  of  an 
instrument. 

Both  language  and  music  are  in  their  origin  but  one  and 
the  same  thing;  they  are  first  and  foremost  the  expression 
of  sentiments  little  or  not  at  all  defined.  Thus  children 
during  the  first  few  months  practice  the  two  simultan¬ 
eously,  and  more  for  pleasure  than  to  express  any  wants. 
Adults,  however,  soon  teach  them  the  separate  use  of  these 
two  arts  which  in  primitive  man  also  were  fused  in  one, 
but  which  have  been  brought  singly  to  perfection  by  the 
slow  elaboration  of  ages.  First,  between  the  ages  of  one 
and  three,  children  learn  a  very  great  number  of  oral  signs 
and  combinations  of  signs  representing  concrete  ideas. 
But  during  the  same  period  they  will  scarcely  learn  to  dis¬ 
tinguish  the  abstract  scale  of  sounds  better  than  that  of 
colors.  The  child’s  vocal  music  is  of  a  different  kind,  and 
cannot  accommodate  itself  to  ours.  Not  that  his  ear  does 
not  seize  with  tolerable  clearness  the  more  delicate  shades 
of  sound,  provided  people  sing  to  him  in  tune;  but  his  ear 
at  this  age  is  more  natural  than  musical — it  distinguishes 
musical  sounds  more  from  their  accent  and  rhythm  than 
their  expression.  A  child  must  first  have  learnt  by  a  long 
apprenticeship  of  hearing  and  sight  to  distinguish  the 
nature  and  origin  of  any  sounds  whatever,  to  recognize  the 
voices  of  different  people,  to  imitate  their  speech  and  their 
songs,  or  to  mimic  the  cries  of  animals  or  the  most  strik¬ 
ing  sounds  produced  by  objects,  before  notes  sung  by  the 
human  voice  will  have  any  marked  expression  for  him. 
And  further,  the  development  of  the  musical  ear  is  quite 
as  much  aided  by  the  personal  exercise  of  the  voice  as  by 
hearing  the  songs  of  other  people.  Now,  the  larynx  of  a 
child,  though  it  contains  at  birth  all  the  same  parts  as  it 
does  in  an  adult,  is  only  a  rough  sketch  of  what  it  will  be. 
During  the  first  months  the  cartilage  is  in  an  essentially 


THE  MUSICAL  SENSE. 


2G7 


fibrous  state.  It  is  not  until  after  the  second  year  that  the 
thyroid  cartilage  assumes  more  marked  forms,  and  that 
the  arytenoids  begin  to  take  shape.  At  the  age  of  five  or 
six  years  the  posterior  extremities  of  the  thyroid  and  other 
parts  acquire  the  character  of  true  cartilage.  It  is  natural 
that  the  development  of  the  voice  should  follow  that  of 
the  organs.  As  the  fibres  harden  by  slow  degrees,  the 
shrill  screams  and  wailings  of  early  days  give  place  to  more 
sonorous  sounds;  and  by  the  development  of  the  muscles 
the  vocal  pipe  is  placed  in  favorable  conditions  for  modi¬ 
fying  the  discordant  sounds  of  the  reed.  .  .  .  Towards 

the  first  year  the  voice  begins  to  acquire  a  more  decidedly 
sonorous  quality;  speech  becomes  an  incessant  medium  of 
gymnastics  for  the  voice,  and  contributes  enormously  to 
its  development.1 

From  one  to  three  years  of  age  the  development  of  the 
voice  appears  to  coincide  with  that  of  the  brain,  rather  than 
of  the  general  organization.  With  regard  to  its  sonorous 
quality,  it  is  pretty  much  at  a  standstill ;  and  it  remains  so 
till  the  age  of  five  or  six.  It  is  from  the  age  of  four  or 
five  that  the  ear  begins  really  to  form,  and  learns  most 
easily  to  distinguish  sounds ;  2  and  its  progress  has  been 
greatly  aided  by  the  gradual  development  and  constant 
exercise  of  the  voice.  A  child  of  a  year  old  may  listen 
with  profit  to  music  of  a  simple  kind,  moderately  express¬ 
ive  and,  above  all,  lively;  it  will  conduce  to  form  his 
musical  ear.  But  his  real  musical  education,  that  which 
will  produce  the  most  manifest  fruits,  scarcely  ever  begins 
before  the  age  of  five  or  six;  and  even  then  his  best  model 
for  vocal  music  will  not  be  a  man,  whose  voice  is  an  octave 
lower  than  his,  but  the  sweet  voice  of  his  mother  or  nurse, 
or  of  an  older  child  whose  voice  is  already  formed.  As  for 
instrumental  music,  we  know  what  it  is,  what  it  may  be, 
and  also  what  it  should  not  be  at  this  age  of  animal 
virtuosite.  We  have  already  seen,  according  to  Houzeau, 
that  the  first  rudiments  of  instrumental  music  are  not 
unknown  to  certain  animals;  and  that  their  first  attempts 


1  De  la  Calle,  op.  cit.,  p.  141  - 

2  Dupaigne,  Conferences  FeJagogiques,  1878. 


2GS  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


in  this  line  are  of  the  nature  of  drum  performances,  that 
is  to  say,  they  consist  in  striking  sonorous  objects  with 
sticks.  The  drum,  according  to  Houzeau,  is  the  universal 
instrument,  the  symbol  of  musical  art  in  the  savage,  and, 
perhaps  we  may  also  add,  in  the  quadrumana  also.  To 
this  instrument  of  barbarous  percussion,  the  offspring  of 
the  civilized  bimana  adds  the  trumpet,  symbol  of  a  more 
refined  savageness.  The  use  of  the  first  of  these  instru¬ 
ments  has  been  suppressed  in  Prance  for  adults,  let  us 
hope  that  it  will  not  be  long  before  children  also  are  for¬ 
bidden  its  use.  As  to  the  suppression  of  the  trumpet, 
this  last  vestige  of  animal  combativeness,  it  will  come  in 
its  turn,  though  the  time  does  not  yet  seem  near  at  hand. 


II. 


THE  SENSE  OF  MATERIAL  BEAUTY. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  month  or  towards  the  middle  of 
the  second,  the  fixity  of  expression,  the  sustained  attention, 
the  smile,  the  automatic  gestures  of  the  head,  arms,  and 
legs,  which  we  notice  in  children  when  they  see  before 
them  brightly  colored  or  luminous  objects,  or  objects 
moved  briskly  about,  do  not  appear  to  signify  anything 
more  than  the  pleasure  resulting  from  very  exciting  sensa¬ 
tions.  At  this  period  also  the  sight  of  a  candle,  or  anything 
of  pronounced  color,  will  cause  starts  and  tremblings  and 
babblings,  which  are  the  child’s  ordinary  expression  of  joy, 
admiration,  or  desire.  For  some  time  already  the  sight  of 
his  feeding-bottle,  his  nurse’s  breast,  his  parents  and 
friends,  will  have  evoked  from  the  child  analogous  cries, 
gestures,  and  attitudes.  During  the  first  month,  there¬ 
fore,  we  may  assume  that  the  child  confuses  the  beautiful 
with  what  he  likes.  The  child  is  at  the  stage  of  the  first 
purely  animal  emotions,  the  accumulation  of  which  has 
produced  the  hereditary  instinct  called  aesthetic.  We  are 
already  able  to  affirm  that  the  intensity  of  these  visual 
pleasures  is  in  relation  to  the  individual  impressionability, 
and  we  can  perhaps  also  vaguely  foresee  the  degree  of  the 
future  development  of  this  force.  Psychologists,  however, 
must  observe  extreme  caution  and  reserve  in  their  diagnosis. 


THE  SENSE  OF  MATERIAL  BEAUTY. 


269 


for  these  first  indications  have  only  a  very  limited  object; 
they  only  bring  into  evidence  the  feeblest  of  the  elements 
of  which  the  aesthetic  sense  will  eventually  be  composed; 
besides  which,  inherited  tendencies,  especially  when  pre¬ 
cociously  displayed,  are  apt  to  become  very  mediocre  in 
quality. 

Let  us  study  a  child  at  the  age  of  ten  months.  A  great 
number  of  visual  perceptions  have  become  associated  in  his 
brain  with  the  admiration,  joy,  sympathy,  and  desire  which 
the  sight  of  anything  good  or  pleasant  awakens  in  him; 
nevertheless,  in  spite  of  some  progress  which  he  has  made 
in  the  habits  of  imagining,  comparing,  abstracting,  and 
generalizing,  it  seems  that  the  legacy  of  the  ideal  inherited 
from  his  parents  has  not  yet  become  amplified.  The 
{esthetic  pleasure  of  admiration  and  purely  sensual  pleas¬ 
ures  seem  still  blended  together.  I  give  a  cake  to  a  child 
of  nine  months;  he  reddens  with  emotion,  and  his  whole 
being  is  agitated ;  he  stretches  out  his  hands  eagerly,  and 
carries  the  cake  to  his  mouth  with  the  most  unconcealed 
delight.  I  then  present  him  with  a  plaything — his  sister’s 
doll ;  his  delight  and  admiration  are  shown  at  first  by  the 
same  signs  as  before;  but  very  soon  discovering  that  this 
charming  object  is  only  good  to  be  looked  at  and  handled, 
he  confines  himself  to  enjoying  it  with  the  two  senses  of 
sight  and  touch,  and  presently  even  invites  me  to  share 
his  pleasure.  Here  we  have  a  sentiment  less  egoistical — 
or  rather  an  egoism  which  takes  him  out  of  himself — and 
which  the  very  nature  of  the  object  has  led  the  child  to 
experience.  We  can  see  in  this  a  progress,  though  very 
slight,  of  the  aesthetic  sense. 

I  see  a  child  of  ten  months  in  a  high  state  of  delight  just 
after  his  nurse  has  put  him  on  his  smart  new  frock  and 
shoes.  But  I  also  observed  that  in  putting  them  on  she  said, 
“Pretty,  pretty,”  a  word  which  he  applies  in  his  mind  to 
everything  that  is  good  or  pleasant;  I  also  reflect  that 
every  change  relating  to  his  person  makes  him  happy, 
especially  if  the  people  about  him  appear  to  share  his  joy. 
But  then  I  remember  also  that  he  seems  always  very  happy 
in  his  everyday  frock  and  shoes,  and  I  can  no  longer 
attribute  this  momentary  excitement  to  a  sentiment, — ex- 


270  THE  EIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


cept  perhaps  a  very  obscure  one, — of  the  beauty  of  his 
clothes.  The  color  of  the  stuff  no  doubt  pleases,  as  that 
of  a  flower  or  piece  of  colored  paper  would;  the  rustling 
affects  his  tympanum  pleasantly;  the  click-clack  of  the 
little  new  shoes  amuses  him,  as  any  new  sound  would;  but 
this  is  probably  all. 

Another  child  of  ten  months  and  his  cousin  of  thirteen 
months  can  distinguish  easily  amongst  five  or  six  other 
kinds  of  food  the  cake  or  dainty  they  prefer;  and  if  they 
seize  hold  of  them  it  is  with  full  consciousness  of  what  they 
are  doing.  But  if  I  p.esent  to  them  at  the  same  time 
several  toys  and  dolls  of  unequal  prettiness,  they  generally 
make  a  grab  at  hap-liazard  and  without  choice.  If  they 
do  make  a  choice,  it  is  anything  but  an  {esthetic  one ;  it  is 
size,  smartness,  and  novelty  which  attracts  and  fascinates 
them. 

With  regard  to  animal  beauty,  and  the  highest  kind 
especially,  that  of  the  human  form,  there  is  a  sympathy 
of  origin  and  similarity,  combined  with  the  influence  of 
familiar  experiences,  which  predisposes  children  to  take 
lively  delight  in  it.  But  there  is  little  more  than  this. 

I  have  often  studied  little  children  in  the  presence  of 
animals  at  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  in  Paris,  or  the  Zoolog¬ 
ical  Gardens  of  other  great  towns,  and  it  is  evident  to  me 
that  they  take  great  notice  of  them  and  delight  in  looking 
at  them — big  ones  and  little  ones,  pretty  or  ugly,  and 
especially  those  which  resemble  animals  they  are  already 
acquainted  with.  But  I  have  examined  the  expression  of 
their  eyes  and  faces,  their  gestures  and  exclamations,  to 
learn  if  they  made  any  distinction,  in  virtue  of  hereditary 
instinct,  between  the  different  representatives  of  zoological 
species,  and  I  confess  that,  to  my  great  astonishment,  I 
could  discover  nothing  of  the  kind.  They  showed  quite  as 
much  delight  at  the  tricks  of  the  monkeys  as  at  the  gam¬ 
bols  of  the  bears,  or  the  grave  and  ponderous  attitudes  of 
the  elephant;  they  admired  with  equal  enthusiasm  the 
brilliant  cockatoos,  the  hideous  vultures,  the  grotesque 
ostrich,  and  the  graceful  ichneumon ;  and  would  gaze  with 
pleasure  quite  unmixed  with  horror  at  the  awful  boa-con¬ 
strictor  and  the  scaly  lizards.  The  child  has  not  yet  got 


THE  SENSE  OF  MATERIAL  BEAUTY. 


271 


beyond  isolated  perceptions,  and  is  incapable  of  concep¬ 
tions  of  wholes  or  masses;  and  that  is  why  his  ideas  of  the 
beautiful  and  his  correlative  ideas  of  ugliness  are  so  incom¬ 
plete,  variable,  and  fleeting. 

The  idea  of  proportion  and  suitability,  which  is  a  wholly 
intellectual  perception,  takes  longer  to  form  itself  than  the 
discernment  of  expression,  which  is  almost  entirely  sen¬ 
sory.  The  attitude  of  these  little  children  in  the  presence 
of  people  whose  faces  are  unknown  to  them,  seems  to 
indicate  this.  They  are  attracted  at  first  sight  by  certain 
faces,  which  also  please  adults;  and  other  faces  which  do 
not  please  us  seem  also  to  frighten  and  repel  them.  But 
the  readiness  wflth  which  they  become  reconciled  to  the 
latter,  provided  they  discover  in  them  signs  of  benevolence, 
and  the  equal  readiness  with  which  they  withdraw  their 
favor  from  the  others  if  they  only  find  coldness  in  them, 
authorize  us  in  supposing  that  if  hereditary  influences  and, 
up  to  a  certain  point,  personal  experience,  dispose  the 
child  to  feel  the  charm  of  a  beautiful  face,  of  a  harmonious 
arrangement  of  form  and  color,  a  stronger  tendency  makes 
them  capable  of  understanding  and  feeling  the  true  ex¬ 
pression  of  sentiments  which  are  not  very  complex.  Even 
with  adults  expression  ranks  before  beauty  of  proportion. 
The  best  proportioned  face,  if  wanting  in  expression,  says 
nothing  to  us,  whereas  the  most  irregular  features — even 
the  most  repelling — if  lighted  up  with  expression,  interest 
and  please.  It  is  not  surprising  then  that  to  children  the 
intellectual  elements  of  the  beautiful  should  be  subordi¬ 
nated  to  the  sensory  ones,  or  even  entirely  absent. 

We  have  now  come  to  a  fresh  stage  in  the  slow  evolution 
of  the  aesthetic  sense.  The  child  is  eighteen  months  old; 
his  mind  is  stored  with  a  considerable  number  of  percep¬ 
tions  more  or  less  well  differentiated  and  generalized;  he 
has  made,  and  has  heard  made,  quantities  of  judgments 
implying  a  conception  of  the  beautif  ul;  and  this  term,  often 
used  by  him  or  in  his  hearing,  may  have  assumed  the  form 
of  an  elementary  abstraction.  But  howT  undetermined  still 
and  fluctuating  is  this  idea  in  his  mind!  To  him  the 
beautiful  still  means  only  what  is  pretty ,  but  it  is  also  what 
is  nice,  and  in  both  cases  it  is  the  concrete  expression  of 


272  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


the  known.  All  his  aesthetic  judgments  refer  always  to 
himself;  pretty  applies  to  everything  that  is  part  of  him¬ 
self,  that  belongs  to  him,  that  is  for  him  or  near  him;  his 
person,  his  clothes,  his  toys,  his  parents,  his  friends,  his 
animals,  flowers,  and  trees.  Sometimes,  however,  all 
these  things  cease  to  be  pretty — himself,  when  he  gets 
angry,  or  has  been  disobedient,  or  given  pain  to  some  one ; 
his  toys  when  he  is  tired  of  them  or  has  broken  them  or 
made  them  dirty;  then  nothing  is  pretty  or  good.  Thus 
we  see  that  the  dominant  elements  in  the  infant’s  sense  of 
beauty  are  the  primary  judgments  and  sentiments,  or  those 
immediately  derived  from  them,  which  make  up  his  young 
personality. 

A  very  few  examples  will  show  how  very  limited  is  that 
part  of  his  ideality  which  may  be  called  rational,  and 
quasi- universal.  A  gaudy  picture-book  will  drive  children 
wild  with  delight,  even  at  the  age  of  three,  while  the  paint¬ 
ings  of  a  master  do  not  appeal  to  them  at  all.  Beautiful 
statuary  leaves  them  indifferent;  but  they  will  watch  with 
the  greatest  interest  the  tricks  and  antics  of  a  dog,  the 
flight  of  a  bird,  a  boat  gliding  along.  A  little  girl  twenty 
months  old,  who  had  been  accustomed  to  looking  at  pict¬ 
ures  at  home,  and  took  pleasure  in  recognizing  the  objects 
they  represented,  escaped  from  her  father  when  he  tried 
to  make  her  look  at  the  animals  and  people  in  the  pictures 
of  the  Louvre.  Her  chief  delight  here  in  public  was  to 
run  about,  laughing  and  calling  to  me  in  a  little  shrill 
voice,  and  getting  in  the  way  of  the  visitors.  Another 
child,  three  years  old,  after  having  looked  at  an  Italian 
picture  with  very  bright  coloring,  partly  from  imitation 
and  partly  from  obedience,  expressed  his  admiration  thus : 
“It’s  very  pretty,  papa!  There’s  lots  of  gold,  lots  of  red, 
and  lots  of  blue;  and  then,  down  there,  there  is  a  papa 
and  a  mamma;  there  is  no  baby;  and  there  is  a  papa  tree 
and  a  mamma  duck.” 

Children  appreciate  rural  scenery  as  little  as  they  do 
pictorial  or  sculpturesque  beauty.  In  Touraine,  a  beautiful 
and  open  country  greets  the  eye  at  every  turn .  A  young 
child  will  pass  some  time  in  the  midst  of  its  beauties,  and 
will  perceive  only  himself  or  his  parents.  The  latter 


THE  SENSE  OF  MATERIAL  BEAUTY. 


273 


adroitly  lead  the  conversation  to  the  subject  of  the  lovely 
country;  the  child  mechanically  repeats  some  fragments 
of  their  discourse.  Then  the  parents,  seated  on  some 
rising  ground,  invite  the  child  to  look  at  what  they  were 
admiring.  His  reply  is  very  brief:  “Oh!  yes,  it  is  very 
beautiful,  very  beautiful,  much  more  lovely  than  at  home, 
and  than  where  grandmamma  lives  too.”  Before  a  thun¬ 
dering  cascade,  glowing  with  rainbow  tints,  a  child  of  the 
same  age  cried  out:  “Say,  mamma,  why  is  the  cascade  of 
the  mill-stream  at  Tarbes  not  bigger  than  this?”  Another 
child,  about  three  years  of  age,  imitating  her  mother’s  ex¬ 
ample,  always  admired  the  beautiful  Pic  de  Ger,  which 
towers  in  the  distance  far  above  the  mountains,  surround¬ 
ing  Eaux-Bonnes.  This  mountain,  situated  nearly  to  the 
south  of  the  town,  changes  its  asjject  according  to  the  time 
of  day.  The  child  had  heard  this  spoken  of,  and  repeated 
the  words  in  his  own  fashion:  “The  mountain  is  very 
large !  This  morning  it  was  quite  white,  yesterday  it  was 
quite  black,  and  the  other  yesterday  it  was  all  rose-color. 
Oh!  the  lovely  mountain.  It  is  a  great  deal  bigger  than 
our  house,  perhaps  it  is  four  times  as  big.”  Of  a  beautiful 
animal,  this  same  child  said  it  was  of  such  and  such  a 
color,  and  then,  very  large  or  very  good,  not  naughty  or 
bad  at  all;  of  a  very  fine  poplar,  that  it  was  very  tall  or 
very  pretty,  but  not  so  large  as  the  fig-tree,  the  big  fig-tree 
in  grandma’s  garden. 

Children  begin  by  feeling  pleasure  and  admiration  for 
isolated  objects,  and  so  much  the  more  as  they  appear  to 
them  to  he  good  or  pleasant.  The  measure  of  their  ap¬ 
probation  does  not  go  beyond  their  familiar  experiences. 
Of  masses  they  only  perceive  the  general  bulk ;  of  harmo¬ 
nies  in  nature  or  in  art,  only  the  colors  and  the  most 
salient  points.  The  ideality  transmitted  through  ancestors, 
develops  according  to  the  laws  of  general  evolution,  adapt¬ 
ing  itself  gradually  to  more  distant  objects,  analyzing  and 
combining  them  more  and  more.  The  more  persons  and 
objects  recall  real  connections  and  distinct  associations  of 
agreeable  and  intense  sensations,  the  more  we  may  say 
that  the  sense  of  the  intellectual  element  of  the  beautiful, 
or  ideality,  has  progressed. 

19 


274  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

in. 

THE  CONSTRUCTIVE  INSTINCT. 

“Creative  imagination,”  under  the  form  of  constructive 
or  destructive  mania,  “shows  itself  at  a  very  tender  age,” 
says  Father  Girard;  “for  if  the  little  child  likes  to  give 
proof  of  his  strength  by  destroying,  he  also  delights  in 
producing,  after  his  own  fashion,  things  new  and  beautiful. 
See  how  he  ranges  his  little  soldiers,  his  toy  horses  and 
sheep,  etc.;  how  he  rejoices  in  new  combinations!  And 
he  calls  to  his  mother,  that  she  too  may  share  in  his  pleas¬ 
ure.”1  The  instinct  of  imitation,  so  active  in  all  young 
animals,  conduces  to  the  rapid  development  of  this  hered¬ 
itary  faculty.  Tiedemann  points  out  to  us  in  his  child, 
thirteen  months  old,  a  rare  aptitude  for  combining  the 
ideas  he  had  acquired  and  of  applying  them  to  actual  per¬ 
ceptions,  with  the  evident  intention  of  representing  the 
first  by  the  second. 

On  the  29th  of  October  the  child  got  hold  of  some  cab¬ 
bage  stalks  and  amused  himself  with  making  them  repre¬ 
sent  different  persons  visiting  each  other.  The  philosopher 
rightly  sees  in  this  the  germ  of  the  poetic  genius,  which  he 
says  “seems  to  consist  in  transferring  known  images  to 
strangers.”  But  he  forgets  to  tell  us  how  far  this  perform¬ 
ance  was  genuinely  spontaneous,  and  whether  the  child 
had  ever  seen  this  done  before,  or  whether  it  was  his  orig¬ 
inal  idea  for  representing  scenes  which  he  remembered.  It 
is  true,  however,  that  even  if  the  action  did  proceed  from 
mechanical  imitation,  as  consciousness  would  soon  inter¬ 
vene,  it  would  assume  a  certain  personal  character.  Pos¬ 
sibly  also  a  future  savant  was  exceptionally  gifted  with 
precocious  talents. 

However  this  may  be,  this  imaginative  faculty  shows 
itself,  with  greater  or  less  force,  in  all  children  from  the 
age  of  eight  or  ten  months.  A  child  of  nine  months 
seated  on  the  floor  in  the  middle  of  a  room,  seemed  like  a 
creating  and  despotic  deity  in  the  midst  of  his  playthings, 


1  De  l'  Enseignement  Rtigulier  de  la  Langue  Maternelle,  liv.  iii.,  p.  88. 


THE  CONSTRUCTIVE  INSTINCT. 


275 


and  anything  else  that  was  given  him  or  that  he  could  get 
hold  of  by  crawling  along.  Trumpets,  drums,  balls,  paper, 
books,  cakes,  fruit,  were  piled  up  together,  ranged  side  by 
side,  separated,  put  back  higgledy-piggledy,  pushed  away, 
fetched  back  again,  hugged  up,  kissed,  gnawed,  etc.,  etc., 
and  all  this  with  an  accompaniment  of  shouts,  gestures 
of  admiration,  and  bursts  of  joy,  which  showed  his  im¬ 
perative  need  of  exercising  his  physical  powers,  of  satisfy¬ 
ing  an  ever-new  curiosity,  and  of  imitating;  and  also  his 
intellectual  and  moral  necessity  of  realizing  an  ideal  cor¬ 
responding  to  bis  facidties,  “of  producing,  to  the  best  of 
his  ability,  something  new  and  pretty.”  Thus  the  infant- 
man  constructs  and  destroys  in  play,  but  with  a  seriousness 
and  purpose  which  reminds  one  of  Sallust’s  patricians, 
who  unceasingly  constructed  in  order  to  demolish,  and 
demolished  in  order  to  construct. 

The  aesthetic  faculty  may  even  at  this  early  age  receive 
an  appropriate  kind  of  culture,  through  the  development 
of  the  constructive  instinct.  Give  a  child  of  twenty  months 
or  two  years  a  spade  and  a  little  pail,  set  him  down  on  a 
sandy  beach,  and  you  will  have  reason  to  admire  his  inde¬ 
fatigable  and  ever-varying  efforts  at  building  and  demolish¬ 
ing  and  rebuilding.  His  imagination  outstrips  ours,  in 
that  it  does  not  knowhow  to,  or  cannot  limit  itself.  I  saw 
the  other  day  in  one  of  the  squares  which  I  frequently 
visit,  a  little  girl  seated  by  her  nurse’s  side,  who,  during  a 
quaGer  of  an  hour,  never  ceased  filling  her  little  pail  and 
turning  out  moulds  of  sand.  After  she  had  turned  the 
pail  over,  before  lifting  it  up,  she  always  patted  it  several 
times  with  her  spade;  this,  the  nurse  told  me,  was  to  make 
the  mould  even.  But  she  did  not  always  succeed  in  pro¬ 
ducing  a  perfect  shape,  and  then  she  would  turn  to  her 
nurse  and  hold  out  the  spade  and  pail  to  her,  as  if  inviting 
her  to  share  her  labors.  To  let  children  work  at  what 
they  can  do  and  what  pleases  them,  seems  to  me  an  ex¬ 
cellent  plan. 

Whilst  encouraging,  however,  we  must  be  on  our  guard 
not  to  ovcr-cultivate  this  constructive  instinct,  which  is  as 
imitative  as  it  is  inventive,  and  as  clumsy  as  it  is  irrepres¬ 
sible. 


276  THE  FIE  ST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


One  day,  thinking  that  I  should  greatly  interest  one  of 
my  nephews,  a  little  fellow  rather  more  than  three,  and 
very  intelligent  for  his  age,  I  said  to  him  in  the  garden, 
that  we  would  make  the  river  Adonr,  with  the  bridge,  and 
the  poplars  on  its  hanks.  With  the  end  of  my  cane  I 
scooped  ont  a  long  furrow  several  inches  wide.  I  broke 
off  some  arbutus  twigs  and  planted  them  on  each  side  of 
the  furrow  to  represent  the  poplars ;  and  I  constructed  the 
bridge  with  the  lid  of  a  box  supported  on  heaps  of  stones 
which  represented  the  piles.  When  it  was  finished  I  asked 
my  nephew  if  it  was  not  very  pretty.  He  replied:  “No,  it 
is  not  pretty.”  I  was  not  discouraged,  however;  I  emptied 
two  large  pails  of  water  into  the  furrow,  and  the  water 
trickled  slowly  down  producing  a  stream  which  I  dignified 
with  the  appellation  of  the  Adour.  Still,  however,  I  got 
no  admiration  for  my  pains.  I  then  made  two  paper  boats 
and  launched  them  on  my  river,  which  I  had  first  replen¬ 
ished  with  another  supply  of  water.  The  boy,  who  was 
very  fond  of  boats,  instantly  seized  one  of  them  and  put  it 
back  on  the  river,  now  almost  dry  again.  I  poured  in  a 
fresh  torrent,  which,  being  too  impetuous  and  abundant, 
submerged  the  frail  craft.  The  child  cried  out:  “But 
there  are  no  boats  on  the  Adour!  They  are  on  the  Ga¬ 
ronne,  and  they  don’t  do  like  that  on  the  Garonne.  No, 
that  is  not  amusing,  no,  not  at  all.”  I  thought  it 
was  useless  to  argue  the  matter,  and  I  walked  off, 
laughing  to  myself  over  my  clumsy  attempt  at  infant 
construction.  I  had  already  often  read  in  books,  but  this 
time  I  had  learnt  experimentally,  that  the  initiative  of  chil¬ 
dren  is  always  superior  to  what  we  try  to  devise  for  them. 
This  experiment  and  many  others  have  taught  me  that 
their  creative  or  poetic  force  is  much  weaker  than  is  com¬ 
monly  supposed. 


TV. 


THE  DKAMATIC  INSTINCT. 

The  imitation  of  gestures,  sounds,  and  the  cries  of  ani¬ 
mals,  also  indicates  in  all  children  a  first  awakening  of 


THE  DRAMATIC  INSTINCT. 


277 


the  esthetic  sense.  One  child  of  eleven  months  used  to 
clasp  his  hands  together,  as  he  had  seen  other  people  do, 
to  express  astonishment  or  joy.  He  used  to  imitate  all 
that  pleased  him  in  other  people ;  and  very  often  the  mere 
fact  of  imitation  was  a  pleasure  to  him.  I  had  given  him 
a  little  bucket,  which  he  used  to  hold  in  his  hand  while 
walking  with  me  in  the  garden.  One  day  I  threw  a  pebble 
into  the  bucket;  instantly  the  child  picked  up  another 
pebble  and  threw  it  in  also,  and  then  he  rattled  the  bucket 
with  all  his  might.  One  lesson  was  enough  to  teach  him 
a  game  which  he  repeats  frequently;  it  consists  in  covering 
his  head  with  a  table-napkin  or  shawl,  and  saying,  “a  pa” 
(il  n'y  est  plus),  and  then  popping  his  head  out  again. 

His  aptitude  for  imitation  showed  itself  very  curiously; 
up  to  a  certain  day  he  had  always  needed  some  one  to  help 
him  walk,  but  only  one  person.  If  he  was  with  his  father, 
directly  he  saw  me,  he  would  call  me  ]>apa,  ask  for  my 
hand,  and  leave  his  father  as  soon  as  he  had  hold  of  mine. 
He  would  do  the  same  to  all  new-comers — let  go  the  hand 
he  was  holding  to  take  theirs.  One  day  I  noticed  that  he 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  my  feet  all  the  time  we  were  walk¬ 
ing,  and  to  amuse  him  I  began  taking  very  long  strides, 
which  made  him  laugh  very  much  and  jump  about  with 
delight.  I  repeated  this  amusement  the  next  day;  the 
child  then,  to  imitate  me,  stretched  out  his  legs  till  they 
were  almost  horizontal.  Naturally  he  lost  his  balance  and 
fell  down.  Then  he  asked  for  the  hand  of  the  next  person 
he  saw,  and  without  letting  go  of  mine,  he  began  to  take 
these  long  steps  again.  Now,  if  there  are  two  people  near 
him,  he  must  always  have  a  hand  from  each,  in  order  to 
perform  this  peculiar  walk. 

We  know  how  early  children’s  games  take  the  form  of 
dramatic  scenes.  When  only  three  or  four  months  old, 
their  whole  bodies  become  agitated  and  they  utter  cries  of 
delight  if  their  mother  or  sister  hides  for  a  minute  behind 
a  handkerchief  or  an  apron.  They  will  repeat  before  vis¬ 
itors  the  games  which  amused  their  parents.  Almost  all 
children  display,  in  varying  degrees,  a  tendency  to  perform 
monkey  tricks,  to  say  absurdities,  and  to  repeat  strange 
sounding  syllables,  for  the  edification  of  those  around 


278  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


them,  and  especially  to  win  the  admiration  of  strangers. 

I  know  two  such  children,  the  eldest  of  whom  is  more  than 
three,  whose  mania  for  this  kind  of  thing  renders  them 
almost  insupportable :  the  presence  of  a  visitor  excites  them 
to  such  a  degree  that  they  have  to  be  sent  out  of  the  room. 

The  eldest  especially  never  makes  a  gesture  or  move¬ 
ment  without  turning  round  to  the  visitors  to  see  if  they 
are  looking  at  him ;  he  seems  to  think  they  have  no  eyes 
or  ears  for  any  but  him;  and  that  they  are  only  there  to 
laugh  at  him  and  his  tricks. 

We  must  endeavor  to  preserve  in  children  and  their 
games  their  primitive  character  of  innocent  mischief  and 
fun.  Mockery,  which  is  an  odious  tendency,  borders  very 
closely  on  the  fun  which  delights  us.  I  think  that  in  gen¬ 
eral  this  fault,  even  when  hereditary,  does  not  appear  in 
children  under  the  age  of  three  unless  it  has  been  devel¬ 
oped  by  example  and  encouragement.  The  sense  of  the 
ridiculous  seems  to  be  very  weak  at  this  age.  We  must 
not  imagine  that  because  children  very  early  show  a  ten¬ 
dency  to  pick  out  and  imitate  the  physical  defects  of  people, 
they  have  any  notion  that  they  are  defects  or  absurdities. 

It  is  only  that  they  are  astonished  at  singular  appearances 
and  shapes  and  want  to  know  the  reason  of  them. 

A  child  four  years  old,  having  seen  in  the  street  a  man 
very  much  bent,  and  at  another  time  a  very  little  old  man, 
observed  them  very  attentively  and  afterwards  asked  how 
they  were  made  like  that.  His  brother,  two  years  and  a 
half,  made  remarks  of  the  same  kind:  “Why  does  he  walk 
like  that,  mamma?”  But  there  was  no  perception  of  the 
grotesque,  as  such,  in  either  of  the  children. 

A  child  of  three  years,  having  stayed  for  three  weeks  . 
with  some  relations,  brought  back  with  him  some  ugly 
mocking  habits.  He  had  sometimes  seen  in  his  walks  a 
little  old  hunchback,  and  he  had  taken  to  mimicking  him, 
bending  his  back  double  and  taking  little  hurried  steps ; 
and  the  servants  had  laughed  at  and  encouraged  this  pan¬ 
tomime.  The  family  too  treated  it  as  a  laughing  matter. 
From  this  time  forth  the  child’s  chief  delight  was  to  act 
the  little  old  man.  Numbers  of  parents  are  too  ready  to  en¬ 
courage  this  love  of  caricature  because  they  see  in  it  the 


THE  DRAMATIC  INSTINCT. 


279 


sign  of  a  vivacious  nature  and  an  observing  turn  of  mind. 
But  this  is  one  of  the  worst  uses  that  intelligence  can  be 
put  to.  Ridiculing  and  caricaturing,  unless  for  legitimate 
ends,  are  anything  but  pleasing  in  adults,  and  certainly 
not  in  children,  who  have  no  call  to  practice  them. 
“These  mocking,  comedian  manners,”  says  Fenelon,  “have 
something  in  them  that  is  low  taste  and  contrary  to  all 
good  feeling.” 

Plenty  of  fun  in  their  games,  and  plenty  of  merri¬ 
ment,  but  no  mockery,  is  the  best  rule  for  all  infant 
dramatizing. 

This  tendency  to  imitate  and  dramatize  may  easily  have 
been  derived  from  imitations  which  were  both  harmless 
and  instructive.  Before  they  are  fifteen  months  old,  most 
children  will  counterfeit  very  drolly  the  voices,  the  songs, 
and  cries  of  a  certain  number  of  animals.  This  i$  a  very 
innocent  use  of  the  comic  faculty,  and  it  has  the  advantage 
of  developing  the  vocal  organs,  and  of  leading  children 
to  study  the  cries  and  habits  of  animals.  It  is  very  easy 
to  prevent  this  tendency  from  degenerating  later  into  an 
unkind,  unbecoming  habit. 


CHAPTER  XHI. 

PERSONALITY . - REFLECTION. - MORAL  SENSE. 

The  idea  of  the  ego  is  a  very  obscure  one  for  both  psy¬ 
chologists  and  physiologists;  for  each  individual,  however, 
it  is  very  distinct.  Human  beings  and  animals  very 
quickly  learn  not  to  confound  themselves  with  the  people 
around  them.  This  idea,  moreover,  is  only  a  progressive 
development  of  the  innate  sense  of  personality  which  we 
have  alluded  to  before.  We  may  consider  it  up  to  a  cer¬ 
tain  point  as  innate  and  hereditary,  and  as  being  already 
exercised  and  nourished  by  impressions  during  the  foetal 
life ;  in  short,  as  forming  part  of  the  cerebral  predisposi¬ 
tions  which  the  child  brings  with  him  into  the  world.  It 
strengthens  afterwards,  and  becomes  more  defined  in  pro¬ 
portion  as  the  organs  develop,  as  experiences  multiply  and 
comparisons  extend,  and  as  the  power  of  abstraction  and 
of  generalization  progresses. 

In  the  new-born  child  the  personality  is,  or  seems  to 
be,  especially  concentrated  in  the  emotional  sphere.  He 
does  not  distinctly  recognize  any  object  or  himself;  hut  he 
feels  the  presence  of  objects,  and  he  feels  himself  live  and 
feel  and  act.  A  baby  of  one  month  has  just  been  brought 
into  my  room.  He  scarcely  knows  his  mother’s  voice, 
and  he  does  not  respond  to  it  by  any  gesture,  nor  by  smil¬ 
ing,  which  action  he  still  performs  automatically  and  with¬ 
out  any  meaning.  But  he  is  beginning  to  know  his 
mother’s  breast  by  sight.  For  the  last  ten  days  he  has 
been  able  to  see  sufficiently  to  distinguish  objects.  Before 
this  he  only  followed  with  his  eyes  the  movements  of  a 

280 


PERSONALITY. 


281 


candle;  now  he  follows  all  brilliant  or  moving  objects. 
He  has  followed  the  movement  of  my  finger  which  I  waved 
before  him  a  few  centimetres  off;  he  has  also  followed  a 
sheet  of  white  paper  which  I  shook  a  little  further  off. 
But  nearly  all  the  time  he  has  been  in  the  room  his  eyes 
have  been  fixed  on  an  object  placed  near  the  window,  or 
the  window  itself;  I  think  it  must  have  been  a  picture- 
frame  which  glittered  in  the  light  from  the  window  which 
riveted  his  attention.  It  seemed  to  me  for  a  moment  that 
he  turned  his  head  towards  me,  i.e.,  to  the  left,  to  listen 
when  I  spoke;  I  placed  myself  on  the  other  side,  and 
spoke  in  a  loud  voice;  he  turned  again,  but  slowly,  per¬ 
haps  because  the  sound  came  rather  from  behind.  He 
performed,  as  if  unconsciously,  a  balanced  movement  from 
up  to  down  with  his  left  arm ;  I  touched  his  cheek  with 
my  finger  and  then  with  a  pen -holder;  he  reversed  the 
automatic  movement,  but  his  arm  did  not  go  up  to  his 
cheek.  He  made  the  same  movement  when  I  rubbed  the 
tip  of  his  nose  gently,  accompanying  it  with  a  very  rapid 
twitch  of  his  left  nostril  and  a  puckering  of  his  forehead, 
winch  lasted  for  three  or  four  seconds.  His  mother  hav¬ 
ing  pushed  his  cap  a  little  aside,  and  then  covered  his 
head  with  a  veil,  he  puckered  his  forehead,  opened  his 
mouth  with  a  grimace,  and  uttered  a  little  cry  of  discon¬ 
tent.  When  he  has  a  stomach-ache,  which  very  often 
happens,  he  is  very  much  disturbed,  and  throws  his  arms 
about,  as  if  to  repulse  an  unknown  evil.  I  put  my  finger 
under  his,  his  hand  trembled  a  little  at  first,  and  then  he 
squeezed  my  finger  very  tightly ;  I  pretended  to  withdraw 
it,  and  he  held  it  still  more  firmly,  and  when  at  last  I 
gave  it  up  to  him,  he  lifted  it  up  to  his  lips.  But  he  only 
sucked  it  for  a  few  seconds,  very  quickly  realizing  that  it 
was  not  the  teat  wdiich  nourished  him.  Thus  then  a 
child’s  impressions,  ideas,  and  actions  at  this  age  are  en¬ 
tirely  vegetative  and  rudimentary,  and  almost  exclusively, 
though  vaguely  personal.  His  only  persistent  and  con¬ 
tinuous  idea  of  consciousness  seems  to  be  of  himself;  all 
else  is  fleeting,  dimly  seen,  vaguely  remembered,  anything 
but  distinct. 

Let  us  now  take  a  child  of  three  months.  What 


282  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


progress  we  now  find  'lias  been  made  in  all  the  functions, 
and  in  the  idea  of  its  own  personality !  This  small  infant 
distinguishes  his  mother  from  the  other  people  of  the 
house,  when  they  are  Avith  him  at  the  same  time  as  his 
mother;  he  holds  out  his  arms  to  her  in  preference  to  any 
one  else.  He  is  not  yet  sufficiently  advanced  in  compari¬ 
son  to  distinguish  a  feeding-bottle  full  of  milk  from  one 
full  of  water;  but  when  his  sister  tries  to  take  away  his 
bottle  he  gets  angry.  He  knows  that  coco  is  a  name  for 
the  bird,  and  he  turns  toAvards  its  cage  Avhen  he  hears  the 
word.  He  bends  down  towards  his  feet,  and  stretches  his 
arms  towards  the  bottom  of  his  frock  when  any  one  asks 
him  AArhere  his  feet  or  his  frock  are.  His  mother’s  fond¬ 
ling  often  stops  his  tears  when  he  is  in  pain.  He  smiles 
when  any  one  smiles  at  him,  and  strokes  his  mother. 
Here  we  see  all  the  faculties, — sensibility,  intelligence, 
and  intentional  motricity, — already  exercising  themselves 
with  delicacy,  strength,  and  facility,  and  consciously  into 
the  bargain.  He  distinguishes  different  objects  from  one 
another  and  also  from  himself,  and  he  can  distinguish  the 
various  parts  of  his  body.  Tayo  months  more,  and  the 
association  of  his  name  Avith  the  impressions  connected 
AAnth  his  personality  will  be  a  real  symbol  to  him,  dis¬ 
tinctly  representing  his  personality  and  nothing  else. 

The  concrete  notion  of  personality  which  succeeds  the 
primitive  sentiment  of  this  personality  seems  to  me 
already  completely  formed  when  the  child  begins  to  ex¬ 
press  his  thoughts.  This  is  why  I  think  it  a  mistake  to 
attempt  too  much  to  find  out  what  he  is  thinking  by  what 
he  says.  For  instance,  although  the  contrary  is  generally 
held  to  be  true,  I  cannot  admit  that,  because  children 
speak  of  themselves  in  the  third  person,  therefore  the 
notion  of  their  personality  and  the  term  which  they  use  to 
express  it,  are  not  yet  completely  detached  from  external 
objectivity.  When  the  child  learns  to  say  /  or  me,  instead 
of  Charles  or  Paul,  the  terms  I  or  me  are  not  more  abstract 
to  him  than  the  proper  names  which  he  has  been  taught 
to  replace  by  I  and  me.  Both  the  pronouns  and  the 
names  equally  express  a  very  distinct  and  very  concrete 
idea  of  individual  personality.  When  a  three-years-old 


PERSONALITY. 


283 


child  says,  I  want  that,  it  is  only  a  translation  of  Paul 
wants  that;  and  I,  like  Paul,  indicates  neither  the  first  nor 
the  third  person,  hut  the  person  who  is  himself,  his  own 
well-known  personality,  which  he  continually  feels  in 
his  emotions  and  actions.  An  abstract  notion  of  person¬ 
ality  does  not  exist  in  a  young  child’s  mind. 

May  we  not  also  believe  that  animals  have  quite  as  dis¬ 
tinct  an  idea  of  their  own  personality  as  we  ourselves 
have?  I  have  a  cat  which  answers  to  the  name  of  Mimi, 
which  she  knows  very  well  only  designates  herself;  not 
only  does  she  come  when  she  is  called  by  this  name,  but 
if  any  one  mentions  the  name  casually  in  her  presence,  she 
pricks  up  her  ears  and  looks  up  with  a  significant  expres¬ 
sion  of  countenance;  and  more  than  this,  although  she  is 
never  addressed  as  mother,  if  any  one  says  the  mother,  she 
shows  plainly  that  she  has  learnt, — impossible  to  say 
how, — that  this  word  also  is  qualificative  of  her  individu¬ 
ality. 

“  No  one  supposes,”  says  Darwin,  “that  one  of  the 
lower  animals  reflects  whence  he  comes  or  whither  he 
goes — what  is  death  and  what  is  life,  and  so  forth.  But 
can  we  feel  sure  that  an  old  dog  with  an  excellent  mem¬ 
ory  and  some  power  of  imagination,  as  shown  by  liis 
dreams,  never  reflects  on  his  past  pleasures  in  the  chase? 
And  this  would  be  a  form  of  self-consciousness.  On  the 
other  hand,  as  Buchner  remarked,  how  little  can  the  hard- 
worked  wife  of  a  degraded  Australian  savage,  who  hardly 
uses  an  abstract  word  and  cannot  count  above  four,  exert 
her  self-consciousness,  or  reflect  on  the  nature  of  her  own 
existence. 

“That  animals  retain  their  mental  individuality  is  un¬ 
questionable.  When  my  voice  awakened  a  train  of  old 
associations  in  the  mind  of  the  above-mentioned  dog,  he 
must  have  retained  his  mental  individuality,  although 
every  atom  of  his  brain  had  undergone  change  more  than 
once  during  the  interval  of  five  years.  This  dog  might 
have  brought  forward  the  argument  lately  advanced  to 
crush  all  evolutionists,  and  said :  ‘I  abide  amid  all  mental 
moods  and  all  material  changes.’  ”  1 


1  Darwin,  Descent  of  Man,  etc.,  vol.  i.,  p.  62. 


2S4  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


This  being  conceded,  we  do  not  think  we  are  detracting 
from  the  dignity  of  infant  man,  if,  in  spite  of  his  intel¬ 
lectual  predispositions  and  the  incontestably  superior  im¬ 
pressions  which  result  from  education,  we  recognize  in 
him  no  higher  notion  of  personality,  or  power  of  reflec¬ 
tion  on  his  states  of  being  and  his  operations,  than  what 
we  may  suppose  to  exist  in  the  superior  animals  when 
young;  while,  in  comparison  to  adult  and  experienced 
animals,  we  think  the  young  human  being  inferior  in  this 
respect. 

Between  the  ages  of  two  and  four,  the  personal  senti¬ 
ment  manifests  itself  in  an  extreme  degree,  even  in  the 
gentlest  and  best-brouglit-up  children.  A  child  I  knew 
who  is  now  a  little  over  three,  was  extremely  thin-skinned 
up  to  his  twenty-sixth  month :  he  would  cry  and  scream 
for  the  slightest  fall,  and  thought  himself  done  for  if  he 
got  a  scratch.  He  has  been  cured  through  his  amour 
propre.  The  other  day  he  had  a  heavy  fall  in  my  presence; 
he  picked  himself  up  quickly,  however,  after  first  going  on 
all  fours  to  make  believe  he  had  not  fallen.  Another  time 
he  stumbled  on  the  staircase,  and  rolled  over  several  times, 
bumping  his  head  pretty  hard.  I  ran  up  to  him,  but  he 
had  already  got  up  and  was  struggling  his  hardest  not  to 
cry.  “Did  you  fall?”  I  said.  “No,  no,”  he  answered 
indignantly,  “I’m  not  crying,  I  tumbled  down  for  fun.” 

This  personal  feeling  and  instinct  of  reflection,  some¬ 
times  occasioned  in  him,  even  before  the  age  of  three, 
naif  and  touching  fits  of  inward  retrospection.  He  had  a 
bad  cold  and  headache  one  day.  He  had  been  promised 
that  some  little  girl  friends  should  come  that  evening  to 
tea  with  him.  In  spite  of  his  suffering  he  was  awaiting 
them  impatiently,  and  was  determined  not  to  go  to  bed. 
It  was  piteous  to  see  him  holding  his  little  head  in  his 
hands  and  saying,  “I  should  like  to  die;  when  one  is  dead, 
one  cannot  have  a  headache.  If  I  had  not  been  born,  I 
should  not  suffer.  But  I  don’t  want  to  die,  mamma 
would  be  so  sad.”  When  the  expected  playfellows  arrived, 
he  ran  up  to  them,  and  kissed  them,  and  then  brought 
chairs  to  the  fire  and  said  to  them,  “  Sit  down  and  warm 
yourselves;  cold  gives  you  headache;”  then  addressing  the 


THE  MORAL  SENSE. 


285 


little  one  he  liked  best  among  them,  be  said,  “Perhaps  you 
don’t  much  want  to  dance?  Have  you  got  a  headache?” 
The  suffering  which  had  thrown  him  back  on  himself  in  so 
touching  a  manner,  had  opened  up  in  his  heart  a  well  of 
sympathy,  which  quality  is  not  so  rare  as  one  would  sup¬ 
pose  in  these  shallow  and  egoistic  little  beings. 

The  sense  of  personality  is  so  strong  in  young  children 
that  it  is  always  on  the  verge  of  excess.  It  amounts  in 
them  to  egoism,  self  sufficiency,  and  assertiveness,  though 
they  now  and  then  have  sudden  rebounds  of  sympathy, 
tenderness,  credulity,  and  self-distrust.  It  is  from  this 
personal  feeling,  the  natural  tendencies  of  which  have  both 
to  be  encouraged  and  checked,  that  the  moral  sense 
springs,  or,  in  so  far  as  it  is  hereditary,  that  it  draws  ma¬ 
terial  for  its  development. 


H. 

THE  MORAL  SENSE. 

The  wholly  objective  notion  of  good  and  evil,— the  in¬ 
tellectual  germ  of  the  moral  sense, — cannot  be  determined 
before  the  age  of  six  or  seven  months.  I  have  seen  a 
child  seven  months  old,  whose  mother  had  taught  by 
scolding  and  shaking  him,  that  he  must  not  scream  to  be 
taken  out  of  bed  or  nursed,  if  his  gestures  and  articulations 
to  this  end  were  not  instantly  attended  to.  But  how 
many  children  are  there  not  at  this  age,  and  even  later, 
who,  the  more  one  tries  to  exact  silence  from  them,  the 
less  they  will  obey?  A  slight  thwarting  of  their  wills  re¬ 
sults  often  in  tremendous  scenes  of  passion,  tears,  sobs, 
and  screams.  A  child  of  ten  months  (and  many  well- 
trained  children  arrive  at  this  earlier)  knew  very  well  how 
to  make  himself  understood  when  he  was  afraid  of  making 
a  mess  in  his  cradle.  He  knew,  too,  that  when  he  wanted 
anything  which  was  refused  him,  it  was  naughty  to  persist 
in  wanting  it,  and  especially  to  cry  in  order  to  get  it.  He 
had  a  habit  of  scratching  the  face  of  people  who  took  him 
in  their  arms,  half  in  play  and  haH  from  unconscious 
naughtiness ;  but  he  had  at  last  been  taught  obedience  in 


2S6  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


this  matter.  In  all  this  we  see  the  germ  of  the  moral 
sense. 

The  first  dawning  of  the  moral  sense  appears  in  the 
child  as  soon  as  he  understands  the  signification  of  certain 
intonations  of  the  voice,  of  certain  attitudes,  of  a  certain 
expression  of  countenance,  intended  to  reprimand  him  for 
what  he  has  done  or  to  warn  him  against  something  he 
was  on  the  point  of  doing.  This  penal  and  remunerative 
sanction  gives  rise  by  degrees  to  a  clear  distinction  of  con¬ 
crete  good  and  evil.  As  soon  as  the  child  begins  to  obey 
from  fear  or  from  habit,  he  enters  on  the  possession  of  the 
moral  sense;  as  soon  as  he  obeys  in  order  to  be  rewarded 
or  praised,  or  to  give  pleasure,  he  has  advanced  further  in 
this  possession. 

The  moral  sense,  in  its  objective  form,  is  still  very  in¬ 
complete  in  little  children,  even  between  the  ages  of  two 
and  four.  They  have,  however,  a  very  advanced  idea  of 
what  is  allowed  and  what  forbidden,  of  what  they  must 
or  may,  and  what  they  must  not  do,  as  regards  their 
physical  and  moral  habits.  Moral  law  is  for  them  em¬ 
bodied  in  their  parents,  in  the  mother  especially,  even 
during  their  absence. 

Last  summer  we  had  a  little  nephew  staying  with  us  for 
two  months.  Just  at  first  he  was  very  reserved  and  very 
good,  as  if  he  were  on  the  defensive,  or  as  if  he  were  tak¬ 
ing  stock  of  his  surroundings.  He  behaved  well  at  table, 
asked  politely  for  what  he  wanted,  and  when  he  had  had 
enough,  said,  “I  have  finished.”  But  when  the  meal  was 
ended,  excited  by  a  certain  amount  of  indulgence  which  he 
had  received  (unconsciously  on  our  part),  but  which  he 
had  fully  appreciated,  he  said:  “At  home,  when  I  have 
done  eating,  mamma  lets  me  leave  the  table.”  We  hast¬ 
ened  to  gratify  this  desire,  which  seemed  very  legitimate. 
Then  we  began  to  play  with  him,  and  succeeded  in  amus¬ 
ing  him  for  half  an  hour.  At  last  he  grew  tired  and 
burst  into  tears,  saying:  “Mamma  puts  me  to  bed  when  I 
cry.”  He  was  then  taken  to  the  bedroom  and  undressed. 
Then  he  began  to  cry  again  and  to  gesticulate  in  a  despe¬ 
rate  manner;  he  talked  about  his  mother,  and  we  thought 
he  was  fretting  for  her;  but  he  hastened  to  explain  that 


THE  MORAL  SENSE. 


287 


his  mother  did  this,  and  that,  and  the  other  when  she  put 
him  to  bed;  and  then  followed  a  string  of  prescriptions, 
relative  to  his  going  to  bed,  which  he  evidently  regarded 
as  so  many  obligations  we  were  bound  to  fulfil.  Thus, 
whatever  was  ordinarily  done  for  him  was  his  idea  of 
what  was  right  to  do.  It  was  the  same  with  his  own  ac¬ 
tions.  He  said  to  us:  “It  is  very  wicked  to  tell  stories 
or  to  disobey;  it  gives  mamma  pain,  and  makes  her  cry.” 

Thus,  for  the  young  child,  as  well  as  for  animals,  good 
is  what  is  permitted;  evil,  what  is  forbidden.  And  hence 
arises  frequent  uncertainty  with  regard  to  new  actions  or 
to  habitual  ones  under  new  circumstances.  At  the  end  of 
several  days,  the  good  habits  of  the  child  became  modified 
according  to  his  new  impressions  and  according  to  the 
character  of  the  persons  who  surrounded  him.  At  first  I 
inspired  him  with  great  respect.  It  was  I  who  brought  him 
to  the  house ;  and  no  doubt  I  reminded  him  of  his  father, 
whom  he  feared  more  than  his  mother.  He  always  looked 
at  me  before  doing  anything  that  he  knew  was  not  right ; 
he  was  more  at  his  ease  and  less  circumspect  wfith  other 
members  of  my  family,  who  inspired  him  with  less  awe. 
He  acquired  some  habits  contrary  to  those  he  had  formed 
at  home.  He  was  sometimes  disobedient,  and  he  got  into 
the  way  of  crying  for  what  he  wanted.  I  found  myself 
henceforth  compelled  to  make  a  departure  from  one  of  my 
principles  regarding  infant  education,  which  is,  to  turn 
children’s  attention  as  much  as  possible  away  from  their 
illegitimate  desires  or  their  little  sorrows  arising  from 
trifles,  and  to  reprimand  them  as  little  as  possible  and  only 
in  extreme  cases.  I  was  now  obliged  to  raise  my  voice 
very  often,  and  to  make  a  gesture  which  he  recognized  as 
a  dreaded  gesture  of  his  father’s,  but  which  I  did  not  go 
the  length  of  putting  into  effect. 

The  preceding  observations  show  that  the  morality  learnt 
by  the  young  child  is  an  edifice  built  up  at  the  cost  of  great 
labor,  patience,  and  prudence,  and  which  may  crumble 
away  in  a  few  weeks  in  the  midst  of  different  circumstances 
and  surroundings. 

The  moral  sense,  then,  is  one  of  the  hereditary  faculties 
most  liable  to  be  modified  by  circumstances.  It  is  not  in 


288  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


vain  that  we  appeal  to  this  social  instinct,  this  individual 
impressionability  and  sympathy,  this  innate  desire  to 
please,  which  plays  such  an  important  part  in  the  culture 
of  the  young  moral  faculties.  A  little  girl  fourteen  months 
old  was  always  very  unhappy  when  her  mother  said,  “I 
am  angry,  baby.  ”  But  she  was  indifferent  to  most  of  the 
scoldings  of  her  father,  whom  she  was  accustomed  to  hear 
rage  and  threaten.  When  two  years  and  five  months  old, 
the  son  of  Tiedemann,  if  he  thought  he  had  done  some¬ 
thing  very  good,  used  to  cry  out:  “People  will  say,  That 
is  a  very  good  boy!”  When  he  was  naughty,  if  any  one 
said  to  him,  “The  neighbor  will  see  it,”  he  desisted  immedi¬ 
ately.  There  are  delicacies  of  sensibility  innate  in  chil¬ 
dren  which  are  never  appealed  to  in  vain  by  good  educators, 
and  which  even  with  children  who  are  the  least  gifted  in 
this  respect  are  the  best  auxiliaries  and  the  most  efficacious 
substitutes  for  coercive  means.  I  saw  a  woman  yesterday 
passing  in  the  street  who  had  been  shopping  with  her  little 
girl  about  three  years  old.  The  child  was  walking  a  step 
or  two  in  advance  of  her  mother,  and  kept  on  turning  round 
to  catch  a  look  or  gesture  of  approval;  she  had  been 
charged  with  the  execution  of  a  task  which  she  considered 
very  serious,  and  she  thought  herself  very  meritorious  for 
performing  it  well.  She  was  carrying  on  the  palms  of 
both  her  hands  a  parcel  of  very  large  circumference  but  very 
thin  and  light,  and  which  must  have  seemed  exceedingly 
large  to  her  in  comparison  with  her  own  small  dimensions; 
and  to  carry  it  without  stumbling  or  letting  it  fall  seemed 
to  her  a  great  feat  of  skill.  She  was  taking  all  this  trouble 
to  please  her  mother,  and  to  win  her  admiration  and  praise. 
Passive  obedience,  and  tlie  fear  of  being  punished  or 
scolded,  would  scarcely  have  obtained  a  result  like  this, 
which  is  so  easily  and  surely  gained  by  an  appeal  to  the 
benevolent  and  generous  sentiments  of  our  nature. 

The  sentiment  of  justice  sometimes  manifests  itself  with 
great  force  in  young  children,  especially  at  the  period  when 
they  have  become  able  to  express  distinctly  what  they  feel. 
The  first  time  that  a  certain  child  of  my  acquaintance, 
now  four  years  old,  told  a  deliberate  falsehood,  his  mother 
thought  it  her  duty  to  punish  him.  She  told  him  that  she 


THE  MORAL  SENSE. 


289 


was  going  to  shut  him  up  in  the  cellar,  and  she  made  him 
go  with  her  down  the  stairs  wliich  led  to  it.  On  the  way 
down,  the  child,  whose  imagination  was  struck  with  the 
importance  attached  to  his  fault,  and  who  had  begun  to 
feel  very  guilty,  said  to  his  mother.  “But,  mamma,  per¬ 
haps  I  am  not  sufficiently  punished  for  kuch  a  great 
fault?” 

Some  months  afterwards,  he  was  sent  to  his  grand¬ 
mother’s,  where  he  used  to  behave  as  a  little  despot  and 
tyrant.  One  day,  when  he  had  perpetrated  some  mischief 
or  other  which  was  considered  very  serious,  his  grand¬ 
mother  shut  him  up  in  a  dark  room  close  to  the  kitchen. 
Five  minutes  had  hardly  passed  when,  notwithstanding 
her  deafness,  the  old  lady  heard  shrill  screams  like  those 
of  a  peacock.  She  hurried  to  open  the  door  of  the  prison, 
and  the  child  rushed  out,  his  face  bathed  in  tears  and  con¬ 
vulsed  with  fear  and  anger.  As  he  was  only  half-afraid 
of  his  grandmother,  Avho  was  much  too  indulgent  to  him, 
he  thought  she  had  not  the  right  to  punish  him  so  severely, 
and  he  protested  against  what  he  considered  an  injustice: 
“Oh!  naughty  grandmamma,  you  are  very  naughty!  I 
said  I  would  never  go  hack  there,  and  you  have  shut  me 
in  there  again !  You  want  the  rats  to  eat  me !  They  would 
first  of  all  have  eaten  my  feet,  and  then  I  should  have 
died.  Mamma  would  have  been  very  unhappy;  she  would 
never  have  come  back  here,  nor  my  father  either.  I  will 
tell  him  about  it.”  It  is  noteworthy  that  children  at  first 
only  apply  the  idea  of  justice  to  other  people’s  actions,  ac¬ 
cording  to  the  nature  of  the  sentiments  which  these  actions 
awaken  in  themselves.  They  are  irritated  when  any  one 
takes  away  their  toys;  and  it  is  by  dint  of  experiencing 
this  annoyance  and  also  from  hearing  it  said  that  it  is 
naughty  to  take  other  people’s  things,  that  they  end  by 
forming,  first  a  concrete  notion  and  then  a  tolerably  gen¬ 
eral  one,  of  illicit  appropriation.  Again,  if  one  of  his 
brothers  or  sisters  is  punished,  he  will  come  and  tell  you 
all  about  the  punishment,  the  fault  which  was  committed, 
and  above  all  the  manner  in  which  the  culprit  bore  the 
punishment;  and  he  will  not  fail  to  qualify  the  faulty 
action  by  some  general  epithet;  and  all  this  because  he 
20 


290  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


himself  lias  committed  like  faults  and  consequently  under¬ 
gone  like  punishments.  Children,  moreover,  detest  in¬ 
justice,  especially  when  perpetrated,  or  supposed  to  be 
perpetrated,  against  themselves;  but  they  see  nothing  more 
in  it  than  disagreement  between  the  habitual  and  the  acci¬ 
dental  way  of  treating  them. 

It  is  the  same  with  all  other  moral  habits,  and  also  with 
the  moral  sense,  which  in  children — indeed  also  in  adults 
• — is  generally  nothing  more  than  the  theory  of  their 
thoughts  and  actions.  “This  psychological  law  should 
never  be  lost  sight  of,  of  so  great  consequence  is  it.  All 
our  tendencies,  innate  or  acquired,  good  or  bad,  and  conse¬ 
quently  all  our  habits,  in  whatever  way  we  have  con¬ 
tracted  them,  not  only  tend  to  determine  our  conduct  as  a 
matter  of  fact  and  as  actual  motives,  but  also  to  impose 
themselves  as  reasons  to  the  deliberative  will,  or  at  any 
rate  to  suggest  justifying  sophisms,  of  which  the  corrupted 
judgment  finally  becomes  a  dupe  almost  in  good  faith.”1 
Actions  influence  thoughts,  and  thoughts  influence  actions. 
Hence  interest,  self-love,  and  passion  have  their  good 
share  in  the  best  resolutions  of  children.  They  seek  to 
determine  the  motives  of  their  actions,  even  when  they  are 
not  asked  for  them.  “I  did  this  or  that  because.  .  . 

This  formula  is  constantly  on  their  lips.  They  try  to 
obtain  our  praises  for  numbers  of  insignificant  actions 
which  they  think  meritorious.  They  imagine  motives, 
sometimes  utterly  improbable,  for  the  actions  of  others, 
which  they  judge  according  to  their  own;  but  above  all 
they  imagine  specious  reasons  for  explaining  their  own 
most  blamable  actions.  What  is  true  of  habits,  is  also 
true  of  the  moral  sense ;  if  in  one  way  they  tend  to  dis¬ 
interestedness,  they  are  always  “interested  in  some  way  or 
other.”  2 

If  then  we  wish  to  understand  the  meaning  of  the 
actions  of  little  children,  and  to  direct  their  wills  in  a  use¬ 
ful  and  progressive  manner,  we  must  bear  in  mind  that 
all  their  tendencies,  whatever  they  may  be,  begin  and  end 


1  H.  Marion,  La  Solidarity  Morale ,  p.  109. 

2  V.  M.  Guyau,  La  Morale  d'  Epicure,  p.  220. 


THE  MORAL  SENSE. 


291 


with  egoism.  We  must  especially  beware  of  attributing 
to  the  moral  sense,  and  with  children  still  less  than  with 
adults,  a  power  of  determination  which  it  does  not  pos¬ 
sess.  If  man  is  far  from  being  able  to  do  what  he  wills, 
d  fortiori  is  he  far  from  being  able  to  will  that  of  which 
he  may  have  a  very  distinct  idea. 

The  moral  sense  simply  furnishes  the  more  or  less  con¬ 
scious  will  with  motives  more  or  less  strong  according  to 
individuals,  places,  times,  and  situations.  The  business 
of  psychological  educators  is  much  more  concerned  with 
the  habits  that  children  may  acquire,  and  with  their  wills, 
which  are  also  developed  by  habitual  practice,  than  with 
the  development  of  their  moral  conscience.  The  latter  is 
the  blossom  which  will  be  followed  by  fruit;  but  the  for¬ 
mer  are  the  roots  and  branches. 

With  the  development  of  intelligence  and  thought,  tne 
primitive  distinction  of  good  and  evil  enlarges  and 
becomes  better  defined.  Submission  to  authority,  and 
docility,  also  increase  with  experience  and  reflection. 
With  the  tendency  to  reflection  there  spring  up  also,  little 
by  little,  sympathy,  the  love  of  praise,  amour-propre,  the 
susceptibility  to  example,  the  fear  of  reproach,  the  desire 
not  to  be  scolded  and  to  give  pleasure  to  those  belonging 
to  one.  And  thus  that  state  of  mind  is  constituted  in 
which  reflection  dominates  the  contrary  tendency  and 
renders  possible  the  government  of  self.  Out  of  all  these 
diverse  elements  the  moral  conscience  is  gradually  formed, 
which  means  to  say  that  good  intention  and  the  moral 
sentiment  are  added  to  the  moral  habits  at  first  acquired. 
A  child  may  have  been  trained  more  or  less  easily  or  com¬ 
pletely  according  to  the  inn, ate  dispositions  of  its  character; 
but  at  this  point  it  is  still  incapable  of  managing  itself.  It 
begins,  however,  to  reconsider  its  impulsive  tendencies,  it 
has  a  vague  sentiment  of  its  still  very  limited  liberty,  and 
it  can  co-operate  in  the  guidance  of  its  small  personality. 

What  touching  examples  we  see  even  in  little  children 
barely  two  years  old,  of  self-introspection  accompanied  by 
well-grounded  mistrust  of  themselves,  and  the  moral  pain 
of  meliora  video,  deteriora  sequor!  The  daughter  of  L.  Terri, 
while  still  at  the  age  of  thorough  impulsiveness,  when  en- 


292  THE  FIRST  THREE  YEARS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


treated  by  her  mother  to  he  good,  answered  more  than 
once:  “I  feel  that  I  cannot  be  good,”  thus  giving  proof  of 
self-introspection  with  a  sense  of  her  weakness.  “At  five 
years  old,  having  one  day  been  praised  by  her  mother,  she 
said:  ‘To-morrow  I  should  like  to  please  you  still  more. 
I  should  like  to  be  always  good.  But  tell  me  why  I  can’t 
be  always  good.’  ”  1  It  must  not  be  supposed  that  even  at 
five  years  old  the  most  gifted  and  best-brought-up  children 
will  always  be  able  to  keep  at  this  relatively  high  level  of 
moral  sentiment.  Even  considerably  later  on,  they  will 
often  fall  back  below  what  they  may  have  been  or  seemed 
to  be  at  the  early  age  of  three  or  even  two  years.  The 
important  point  is,  that  at  so  tender  an  age  it  should  be 
possible  to  awaken  at  intervals  the  ever  fitful  light  of 
moral  reason.  2 


1  Osservazioni  sopra  una  Bambina,  in  La  Filosofia  delle  Scuole  Ital- 
iane,  Oct.  1881. 

2  For  further  development  of  this  subject  see  in  my  book  L’ Education 
des  le  Berceau ,  chap,  vii.,  on  the  "Moral  Habits  and  the  Moral  Sense,” 
from  page  265  to  300. 


The  End. 


INDEX 


A  BSTRACTION  and  discrimina- 
-t*-  tion,  188 

Action  due  to  instinct  awakening 
ideas,  123 

Activity  affords  pleasure,  16 
Analysis  has  two  forms,  177 
Animals  reason,  210 
generalize,  196 
operate  by  instinct,  45 
Anger  a  principle  of  activity,  70 
Association  is  what,  131 
in  child,  136 

of  ideas  in  child,  what  ?  141 
affects  sentiment,  142 
its  effect  on  character,  145 
must  be  watched,  145 
Attention,  examples  of,  113 
related  to  impression,  115 
Automatism  in  child,  161,  162 

TJEAUTIFUL  means  what  is  liked, 
D  268 

Birds  remember  the  voice,  142 

pHILD  admires  faces  expressive 
^  of,  kindness,  271 
abstracts  when,  188 
acquainted  with  pleasure  before 
birth,  7 

action  subordinate  to  sensibility, 
107 

attention  is  from  the  outer  to  the 
inner,  111 

begins  life  in  helplessness,  ix 
believes  others,  96 
begins  with  monosyllables,  252 
craves  information,  84 
is  credulous,  86 

can  give  attention  but  short  time, 
117 


Child,  definition  of  good,  287 
desires  to  share  pleasure,  31 
differs  how,  49 
dreams,  55 

does  not  attain  time  and  space, 
56 

distinguishes  early,  179 
doubts  solidity,  226 
develops  moral  sense,  285 
exhibits  reflex  activity,  11 
early  notices  the  light,  25 
early  appreciates  weight,  28 
early  jealous,  29 
exhibits  anger,  66 
employs  will-power,  101 
exhibits  stubbornness,  103 
foreshadows  mental  acts,  137 
fear,  62 

feels  afterwards,  251 

gets  pleasure  from  walking,  17 

generalizes,  199 

has  tendency  to  exert  muscular 
force,  11 

has  intellectual  wants,  73 
loves  animals,  75 
has  feeble  attention,  74 
has  waking  dreams,  152 
has  judgment.  16-1 
has  judgment  early,  169 
lias  illusions,  222 
influenced  by  desire,  108 
jealousy,  71 

love  of  human  beings,  77 
looks  in  sympathy,  79 
learns  to  mistrust,  94 
looked  at  from  educators’  stand¬ 
point,  xxi 
loves  stories,  97 
learns  by  having  needs,  171 
loves  to  construct,  275 


234 


INDEX. 


Child  loves  the  dramatic,  277 
learns  personality  slowly,  283 
manifested  idea,  133 
may  have  hallucinations,  158 
may  be  insane,  159 
must  repeat  judgments,  174 
mind,  study  of  why  very  impor¬ 
tant,  xii. 

makes  acquaintance  with  life 
through  suffering,  8 
mind  only  psychologist  can  in¬ 
terpret  it,  iv. 

mistakes  as  to  distance,  225 
made  to  be  learned  from  study, 
iv 

needs  to  act,  231 

not  a  judge  of  character,  175 

omits  or  changes  consonants,  257 

observes  pleasing  sounds,  204 

preferences,  78 

reasons  from  cradle,  220 

who  do  not  understand  it  ?  xiv 

who  are  good  observers  of  ?  xiii 

trusts  others,  94 

thinks  in  pictures,  155 

taught  by  experience,  173 

shows  individuality  at  once,  28 

sheds  tears  early,  12 

sense  of  taste,  61 

subject  to  influence  of  others,  162 
subject  to  illusion,  223 
who  is  slow  to  speakhave  ideas, 260 
should  not  mock,  279 
unveracious,  why  ?  87 
varies  quantitatively,  119 
vary  in  judgment,  166 
use  of  toys  disclose  what  ?  xi 
utters  for  pleasure,  260 
uses  expression  early,  235 
understanding  of  class  or  species, 
208 

Calle,  de  la,  cited  on  language,  246 
Caspar  Hauser  referred  to,  241 
Conscious  efforts  transformed  into 
reflex  acts,  20 

Comparison  expressed,  how,  195 
gained  slowly  by  child,  192 
Chains  of  ideas  in  child,  142 
Contrast  idea,  how  gained,  139 
Color-sense  has  been  developed 
since  heroic  age,  26 

T4ARWIN  on  language,  243 
-C'  on  child  reasoning,  220 


Darwin  quoted,  12,  101,  240,  243,  283 
Display  of  anger,  effect  on  child,  229 
Discovers  new  powers  in  himself,  18 
Dreams  in  child  show  imagination, 
151 


TjDCRLY  impressions 
125 


permanent, 


Education  of  child  should  be  what, 
217 


Educator  needs  intelligence,  230 
Evolution  of  esthetic  sense,  271 
Effect  of  discovery  of  new  fact,  22 
Error  to  treat  child  as  adult,  174 
Exercise  prepares  way  for  latent 
powers,  15 

Example  of  generalizing  in  child, 
203 


FALSEHOOD  caused  by  what,  89 
Fear  a  natural  safeguard,  65 
First  years,  why  of  interest,  vi 
golden  ones  for  the  educator,  xi 

rAENERAL  ideas  need  words,  204 
^  Generalizing  in  child,  176 

TTAPPINESS  essential  to  good- 
ness,  157 

Hereditary  transmission  as  to  color, 
27 

How  child  compares,  194 
Human  language  a  superior  mode 
of  expression,  234 

T  DEA  of  individual,  181 

of  going  out  awakened  his  imag¬ 
ination,  149 
of  means  to  end,  140 
of  time  in  animals,  138 
in  kitten,  135 
in  child,  133 
in  kitten,  134 

of  property  awakened  in,  289 
Ideas  of  kind,  31 
Imitation  early  exerted,  90 
Imagination  may  be  tactile,  154 
reproduces  color,  153 
reproduces  sound,  153 
examples  of,  150 
employed  during  sleep,  148 
in  child,  147 

Inactivity  produces  ennui,  17 


INDEX. 


295 


Instinct  of  sexuality,  56 
of  sleep,  53 
how  they  operate,  50 
of  nutrition,  51 

Irrascibility  an  inheritance,  66 
Intelligence  consists  in  what,  140 
Infancy  and  evolution,  vi 
Infant’s  years  correspond  to  early 
history  of  race,  viii 
Infant’s  smile  product  of  what,  vii 
Infant  rapidly  co-ordinates,  vii 


JUDGMENT,  second  phase  of,  168 
"  co-ordinated  by  habit,  214 
first  form,  168 
is  what,  163 

T  ANGUAGE  first  spontaneous, 339 
and  music  one  in  origin,  266 
Laughter  shown  early,  12 
Liberty  a  condition  of  happiness,  93 

Af EMORY  belongs  to  parts  of  the 
being,  122 

Mental  condition  during  sleep,  53 
Moral  sense  furnishes  motives,  291 
awakened,  how,  286 
Motion  accompanied  by  sound,  13 
Musical  education  begins  at  five  or 
six  years  of  age,  267 
Max  Muller,  no  words,  no  ideas,  204 


yUMBER,  idea  of,  in  child,  185 
idea  of,  in  animals,  184^5 
five  known  by  mule,  185 


QBJECT  and  quality  connected, 

Observation  of  infancy,  what  it 
leads  to,  v 


pOLLOCK  cited  on  language, 

TJESEMBLANCE,  idea  of,  how 
gained,  138 

Reason  does  not  exist  in  child,  167 
Relation  of  attention  and  memory, 
126 

Rule  for  training  children,  146 

QENSATION  of  taste  in  child,  32 
°  of  existence,  etc. ,  35 
muscular,  36 
of  smell,  33 
arising  from  heat,  37 
arising  from  touch,  38 
arising  from  sight,  40 
arising  from  colors,  41 
arising  from  hearing,  41 
Sign,  and  the  thing  in  children,  140 
Smiling  an  early  act,  13 
Spontaneity  opposed  to  plasticity, 
93 

Study  of  child  leads  to  great  results, 
xi 

Spencer  wrong  as  to  child,  72 
on  associations,  34 
(Herbert)  quoted,  19,  64,  67,  134- 
172 

rpiME,  how  idea  is  formed,  137 
Truth  to  child  error  to  man,  170 
Tiedemann  quoted,  87,  288 
Taine  quoted,  14,  114,  133,  138,  205, 
242 


y  OICE  in  child,  244 


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.15 
.15 
.15 
,15 
.20 


PSYCHOLOGY  AND  EDUCATION, 


AO 

.60 


Allen’s  Mind  Studies  for  Young  Teachers,  -  <1. 

Allen’s  Temperament  in  Education,  -  -  -  cl. 

•Kellogg’s  Outlines  of  Psychology,  ...  paper  .25 

Perez’s  First  Three  Years  ot  Childhood.  Best  edition,  cl.  1.50 
Rooper’s  Apperception,  Best  edition.  -  ci.  .25 

Welch’s  Teachers’  Psychology,  -  eL  L25 

•  Talks  on  Psychology,  -  si  ^ 


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.15 

,80 

.20 


.03 

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.08 

118 


paper 

.15 

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pager 

.60 

1.00 

pd. 

pd. 

paper 

.15 

pd. 

cl* 

.25 

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paper 

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n,  cl. 

.80 

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cl. 

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.80 

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1.50 

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.75 

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150 

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.15  pd. 


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GENERAL  METHODS  AND  SCHOOL  MANAGEMENT. 

Currie’s  Early  Education,  - 
Eitcu’s  Art  of  Questioning’,  -  -  -  - 

“  Art  of  Securing  Attention 
**  Lectures  oa  teaching,  - 
Gladstone’s  Object  Teaching,  - 
Hughes’  Mistakes  in  Teaching.  Best  edition. 

“  Securing  and  Retaining  Attention,  ' 

“  How  to  Keep  Oi-der.  - 
Keliogg’s  School  Management.  - 
McMurry’s  How  to  Conduct  the  Recitation, 

♦Parker’s  Talks  on  Pedagogics. 

“  Talks  on  Teaching,  - 
“  Practical  Teacher,  -  -  -  - 

♦Page’s  Theory  and  Practice  of  Teaching, 

Pat  ridge’s  Quincy  Methods,  illustrated,  - 
Quick’s  How  to  Train  the  Memory, 

♦Rein’s  Pedagogics,  ------ 

♦Reinhart’s  Principles  of  Education, 

♦  “  Civics  in  Education,  • 

♦Rooper’s  Object  Teaching,  - 
Sidgwick’s  Stimulus  in  School,  -  » 

Shaw  and  Donnell’s  School  Devices,  - 
Southwiek’3  Quiz  Manual  of  Teaching, 

Yonge’s  Practical  Work  in  School, 


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METHODS  IN  SPECIAL  SUBJECTS. 


Augsburg’s  Easy  Drawings  for  Geog.  Class,  -  paper 
**  Easy  Things  to  Draw,  -  -  -  paper 

♦Burnz  Step  by  Step  Primer,  - 
Calkins’  How  to  Teach  Phonics,  -  cL 

Dewey’s  How  to  Teach  Manners,  -  ct 

Gladstone’s  Object  Teaching,  -  paper 

Hughes’ How  to  Keep  Order,  -  -  -  -  paper 

♦lies’  A  Class  in  Geometry  ----- 
Johnson’s  Education  by  Doing,  -  cl. 

♦Kellogg’s  How  to  Write  Compositions  -  -  paper 

Kellogg’s  Geography  by  Map  Drawing  -  cL 

♦Picture  Language  Cards,  2  sets,  each, 

Seeley’s  Grube  Method  of  Teaching  Arithmetic,  cl. 

“  Grube  Idea  in  Teaching  Arithmetic  -  cl. 
Smith’s  Rapid  Practice  Cards,  -  -  -  83  sets,  each 

Woodhull’s  Easy  Experiments  in  Science,  -  cl. 

PRIMARY  AND  KINDERGARTEN 


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.80 

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Cairous’  Bow  to  Teach  Phonics,  - 
Currie’s  Early  Education,  - 
Gladstone’s  Object  Teaching,  - 
Autobiography  of  Froebel,  - 

Hoffman’s  Kindergarten  Gifts,  - 
Johnson’s  Education  by  Doing,  - 
♦Kilburn’s  Manual  of  Elementary  Teaching  - 
Parker’s  Talks  on  Teaching,  - 

Patridge’s  Quincy  Methods,  - 

Rooper’s  Object  Teaching,  - 
Seeley’s  Grube  Method  of  Teaching  Arithmetic, 
“  Grube  Idea  in  Primary  Arithmetic),  - 
♦Sinclair’s  First  Years  at  School,  t 


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MANUAL  rKAlfiif?0. 


Butler's  Argument  for  Manual  Training,  - 
♦Larsson’s  Text-Book  of  Sloyd,  - 
Love’s  Industrial  Education,  - 
♦Upnam’s  Fifty  Lessons  in  Woodworking, 


paper  .15 

d.  1.60  1.20 
C\  1.50  1.20 

cL  .50  .40 


QUESTION  BOOKS  FOB  TEACHERS. 


Analytical  Question  Series.  Geography,  -  -  cl. 

“  “  U.  S.  History,  cL 

“  “  “  Grammar,  -  cl 

♦Educational  Foundations,  bound  vol.  ’91- ’62,  paper 
*  “  *  “  *92- *98,  cl. 

N.  Y.  State  Examination  Quest  ons,  -  CL 

♦Shaw’s  National  Question  Book  Newly  revised. 
Southwick’s  Handy  Helps,  -----  cL 
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PHYSICAL  EDUCATION  and  SCHOOL  HYGIENE. 


Groff’s  School  Hygiene,  -----  paper  .15 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

Blaikie  On  Self  Culture,  -----  cL  .25  .20 

Fitch’s  Improvement  in  Eduoatlon,  -  -  -  paper  .15 

Gardner’s  Town  and  Country  School  Buildings,  cl.  2.50  2.00 

Lubbock’s  Best  100  Books,  -----  paper  .20 

Pooler’s  N.  Y.  School  Law,  -----  cl.  .80  .24 

Portrait  of  Washington,  -----  6.00 

♦Walsh’s  Great  Rulers  of  the  World,  -  cL  .50  .40 

Wilhelm’s  Student’s  Calendar,  -  paper  BO  .24 

Bas-Reliefs  of  12  Author's,  each,  -  1.00 

SINGING  AND  DIALOGUE  BOOKS. 

♦Arbor  Day,  How  to  Celebrate  It,  -  -  -  paper  .25 

Reception  Day  Series,  6  Nos.  (Set  $1.40  postpaid.)  Each.  .80  .24 

Song  Treasures.  -------  paper  .15 

♦Best  Primary  Songs,  new  -------  .15 

♦Washington’s  Birthday,  How  to  Celebrate  It,  «  paper  .25 


SCHOOL  APPARATUS. 


Smith’s  Rapid  Practice  Arithmetic  Cards,  (32  sets).  Each,  .50 
“  Standard  ”  Manikin.  (Sold  by  subscription.)  Price  on  application. 
“  Man  Wonderful ”  Manikin,  -  4.00 

Standard  Blackboard  Stencils,  500  different  nos., 

from  5  to  50  cents  each.  Send  for  special  catalogue. 

“  Unique  ”  Pencil  Sharpener,  -  1.50 

♦Russell’s  Solar  Lantern,  -----  25.00 

Standard  Physician’s  Manikin.  (Sold  by  subscription.) 


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100  page  classified,  illustrated,  descriptive  Catalogue  of  the  above 
and  many  other  Method  Books,  Teachers’  Helps,  sent  free.  100  pageCat- 
logue'of  books  tor  teachers,  of  a!l|publishers,  light  school  apparatus,  etc., 
sent  free.  Each  of  these  contain  our  special  teachers’  prices. 

E.  L.  KELLOGG  &  CO.,  New  York  &  Chicago, 


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Shaw  and  SDonneU’s  School  ‘Devices . 

“  School  Devices.”  A  book  of  ways  and  suggestions  for 
teachers.  By  Edward  R.  Shaw  and  Webb  Donnell,  of  the 
High  School  at  Yonkers,  N.  Y.  Illustrated.  Dark-blue 
cloth  binding,  gold,  16mo,  224  pp.  Price,  $1.25  ;  to  teach - 
ers,  $1.00  ;  by  mail,  9  cents  extra. 

BOOK  OF  “WAYS”  FOR  TEACHERS.^! 

Teaching  is  an  art ;  there  are  “  ways  to  do  it.”  This  booK 
is  made  to  point  out  “  ways,”  and  to  help  by  suggestions. 

1.  It  gives  “  ways  ”  for  teaching  Language,  Grammar,  Read¬ 
ing,  Spelling,  Geography,  etc.  These  are  in  many  cases 
novel ;  they  are  designed  to  help  attract  the  attention  of  the 
pupil. 

2.  The  “  ways”  given  are  not  the  questionable  “  ways”  so 
often  seen  practiced  in  school-rooms,  but  are  in  accord  with 
the  spirit  of  modem  educational  ideas. 

3.  This  book  will  afford  practical  assistance  to  teachers  who 
wish  to  keep  their  work  from  degenerating  into  mere  routine. 
It  gives  them,  in  convenient  form  for  constant  use  at  the 
desk,  a  multitude  of  new  ways  in  which  to  present  old  truths. 
The  great  enemy  of  the  teacher  is  want  of  interest.  Their 
methods  do  not  attract  attention.  There  is  no  teaching 
unless  there  is  attention.  The  teacher  is  too  apt  to  think 
.there  is  but  one  “  way  ”  of  teaching  spelling  ;  he  thus  falls 
into  a  rut.  Now  there  are  many  “ways”  of  teaching  spell¬ 
ing,  and  some  “  ways  ”  are  better  than  others.  Variety  must 
exist  in  the  school-room  ;  the  authors  of  this  volume  deserve 
the  thanks  of  the  teachers  for  pointing  out  methods  of  obtain¬ 
ing  variety  without  sacrificing  the  great  end  sought — scholar¬ 
ship.  New  “ways”  induce  greater  effort,  and  renewal  of 
activity. 

4.  The  book  gives  the  result  of  large  actual  experience  in 
the  school-room,  and  will  meet  the  needs  of  thousands  of 
teachers,  by  placing  at  their  command  that  for  which  visits 
to  other  schools  are  made,  institutes  and  associations 
attended,  viz.,  new  ideas  and  fresh  and  forceful  ways  of 
teaching.  The  devices  given  under  Drawing  and  Physiology 
are  of  an  eminently  practical  nature,  and  cannot  fail  to 
invest  these  subjects  with  new  interest.  The  attempt  lias 
been  made  to  present  only  devices  of  a  practical  character. 

5.  The  book  suggests  “  ways  ”  to  make  teaching  effective  ;  it 
is  not  simply  a  book  of  new  “  ways,”  but  of  “  ways  ”  that  wiH 
produce  good  results. 


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Kelloggs  School  [Management : 

“  A  Practical  Guide  for  the  Teacher  in  the  School-Room.” 
By  Amos  M.  Kellogg,  A.M.  Sixth  edition.  Revised  and 
enlarged.  Cloth,  128  pp.  Price,  75  cents  ;  to  teachers,  60 
cents  ;  by  mail,  5  cents  extra. 

This  book  takes  up  the  most  difficult  of  all  school  work, 
viz. :  the  Government  of  a  school,  and  is  filled  with  original 
and  practical  ideas  on  the  subject.  It  is  invaluable  to  the 
teacher  who  desires  to  make  his  school  a  “  well-governed  ” 
school. 

1.  It  suggests  methods  of  awakening  an  interest  in  the 
studies,  and  in  school  work.  “The  problem  for  the  teacher,” 
says  Joseph  Payne,  “  is  to  get  the  pupil  to  study.”  If  he  can  do 
this  he  will  be  educated. 

2.  It  suggests  methods  of  making  the  school  attractive. 
Ninety-nine  hundredths  of  the  teachers  think  young  people 
should  come  to  school  anyhow  ;  the  wise  ones  know  that  a 
pupil  who  wants  to  come  to  school  will  do  something  when 
he  gets  there,  and  so  make  the  school  attractive. 

3.  Above  all  it  shows  that  the  pupils  will  be  self -governed 
when  well  governed  It  shows  how  to  develop  the  process  of 
self-government. 

4.  It  shows  how  regular  attention  and  courteous  behaviour 
may  be  secured. 

5.  It  has  an  admirable  preface  by  that  remarkable  man  and 
teacher,  Dr.  Thomas  Hunter,  Pres.  N.  Y.  City  Normal  College. 

Home  and  School.—"  Is  just  the  book  for  every  teacher  who  wishes 
to  be  a  better  teacher.” 

Educational  Journal.— “It  contains  many  valuable  hints.” 

Boston  Journal  of  Education.— “It  is  the  most  humane,  instructive, 
original  educational  work  we  have  read  in  many  a  day.” 

Wis.  Journal  of  Education.— “  Commends  itself  at  once  by  the  num¬ 
ber  of  ingenious  devices  for  securing  order,  industry,  and  interest. 

Iowa  Central  School  Journal.— “  Teachers  will  find  it  a  helpful  and 
suggestive  book.” 

Canada  Educational  Monthly.— “  Valuable  advice  and  useful  suggest 
tions.” 

Normal  Teacher.— “  The  author  believes  the  way  to  manage  is  to  civ¬ 
ilize,  cultivate,  and  refine.” 

School  Moderator.— “  Contains  a  large  amount  of  valuable  reading ; 
school  government  is  admirably  presented.” 

Progressive  Teacher? — “Should  occupy  an  honored  place  in  evert 
teacher's  library.” 

Ed.  Courant.— “  It  will  help  the  teacher  greatly.’ 

Ya.  Ed.  Journal.—"  Theauthor  draw# from  a  large  experience.” 


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Shaw’s  cA Rational  Question  Hook. 

“  The  National  Question  Book.”  A  graded  course  of 
study  for  those  preparing  to  teach.  By  Edward  R.  Shaw, 
Principal  of  the  High  School,  Yonkers,  N.  Y.,  author  of 
“School  Devices,"  etc  Bound  in  durable  English  buck¬ 
ram  cloth,  with  beautiful  side-stamp.  12mo,  400  pp. 
Price,  $1.7  5 ;  net  to  teachers,  postpaid. 

A  new  edition  of  this  popular  book  is  now  ready,  containing 
the  following 

NEW  FEATURES: 

,  READING.  An  entirely  new  chapter  with  answers. 

ALCOHOL  and  its  effects  on  the  body.  An  entirely  new 
chapter  with  answers. 

THE  PROFESSIONAL  GRADE  has  been  entirely  re¬ 
written  and  now  contains  answers  to  every  question. 

This  work  contains  0,500  Questions  and  Answers  on  24 
Different  Branches  of  Study. 

ITS  DISTINGUISHING  FEATURES. 

1.  It  aims  to  make  the  teacher  a  better  teacher. 

•‘How  to  Make  Teaching  a  Profession”  has  challenged  the 

attention  of  the  wisest  teacher.  It  is  plain  that  to  accomplish 
this  the  teacher  must  pass  from  the  stage  of  a  knowledge  of 
the  rudiments,  to  the  stage  of  somewhat  extensive  acquire¬ 
ment.  There  are  steps  in  this  movement;  if  a  teacher  will 
take  the  first  and  see  what  the  next  is,  he  will  probably  go  on 
to  the  next,  and  so  on.  One  of  the  reasons  why  there  has 
been  no  movement  forward  by  those  who  have  made  this  first 
step,  is  that  there  was  nothing  marked  out  as  a  second  step. 

2.  This  book  will  show  the  teacher  how  to  go  forward. 

In  the  preface  the  course  of  study  usually  pursued  in  our 
best  normal  schools  is  given.  This  proposes  four  grades ; 
third,  second,  first,  and  professional.  Then,  questions  are 
given  appropriate  for  each  of  these  grades.  Answers  follow 
each  section.  A  teacher  will  use  the  book  somewhat  as 
follows  : — If  he  is  in  the  third  grade  he  will  put  the  questions 
found  in  this  book  concerning  numbers,  geography,  history, 
grammar,  orthography,  and  theory  and  practice  of  teaching 
to  himself  and  get  out  the  answer.  Having  done  this  he  will 
go  on  to  the  other  grades  in  a  similar  manner.  In  this  way 
he  will  know  as  to  his-  fi.tu.e*a  to  pass  an  examination  for 


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&  L.  KELLOGG  &  CO.,  NEW  YORK  &  CHICAGO. 

Analytical  Questions  Series. 

No,  1.  GEOGRAPHY.  126  pp. 

No.  2,  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.  108  pp. 

No.  3.  GRAMMAR.  104  pp. 

Price  50c.  each;  to  teachers,  40c;  by  mail,  5c.  extra.  The  three 
for  $1.20,  postpaid.  Each  complete  icith  answers. 

This  new  series  of  question-books  is  prepared  for 
teachers  by  a  teacher  of  high  standing  and  wide  experi¬ 
ence.  Every  possible  advantage  in  arrangement  of  other 
books  was  adopted  in  these,  and  several  very  important 
new  ones  added.  The  most  important  is  the 
GRADING  OF  QUESTIONS 

into  three  grades,  thus  enabling  the  teacher  to  advance 
in  her  knowledge  by  easy  steps. 

THE  ANALYTICAL  FEATURE 
is  also  prominent — the  questions  being  divided  into 
paragraphs  of  ten  each,  under  its  appropriate  heading. 

TYPOGRAPHY  AND  BINDINC. 

Type  is  clear  and  large,  and  printing  and  paper  the 
very  best,  while  the  binding  is  in  our  usual  tasteful  and 
durable  style,  in  cloth. 

The  books  are  well  adapted  for  use  in  schools  where 
a  compact  general  review  of  the  whole  subject  is  de¬ 
sired.  The  answers  have  been  written  out  in  full  and 
complete  statements,  and  have  been  separated  from  the 
body  of  the  questions  with  a  view  of  enforcing  and  fa¬ 
cilitating  the  most  profitable  study  of  the  subject.  The 
author  has  asked  every  conceivable  question  that  would 
be  likely  to  come  up  in  the  most  rigid  examination. 
There  are  other  question-books  published,  but  even  the 
largest  is  not  so  complete  on  a  single  branch  as  these. 

Bear  in  mind  that  these  question-books  are  absolutely 
without  a  rival 

■FOR  PREPARING  EOR  EXAMINATION, 

FOR  REVIEWING  PUPILS  IN  SCHOOL, 

FOR  USE  AS  REFERENCE  BOOKS. 

The  slightest  examination  of  this  series  will  decide 
you  in  its  favor  over  any  other  similar  books. 


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Reinhart's  Outline  History  of  Education. 

With  chronological  Tables,  Suggestions,  and  Test  Questions. 
By  J.  A.  Reinhart,  Ph.  D.  Teachers’  Professional  Library. 
77  pp.,  limp  cloth,  25  cents;  to  teachers,  20  cents;  by  mail  2 
cents  extra. 

This  is  one  of  the  little  books  intended  to  be  studied  in  con¬ 
nection  with  The  Teachers’  Profession.  The  publishers,  by 
means  of  these  publications  bring  to  the  very  doors  of  those 
teachers  who  lack  the  opportunity  to  attend  a  normal  school  a 
chance  to  improve  in  the  art  of  teaching.  “  Outlines  of  History 
of  Education  ”  is  what  its  name  implies,  a  brief  but  comprehen¬ 
sive  presentation  of  the  main  facts  in  educational  progress  The 
chapters  are:  Introduction;  Education  among  the  Greeks;  Educa¬ 
tion  among  the  Romans;  Education  in  the  Middle  Ages;  the 
Dawn  of  the  New  Era;  Education  and  the  Reformation;  Educa¬ 
tion  in  the  Seventeenth  Century;  Education  in  the  Eighteenth 
Century;  Education  in  the  Nineteenth  Century.  A  thorough 
study  of  this  book  will  be  a  good  foundation  for  a  more  detailed 
study  of  the  subject.  The  book  is  well  printed  from  clear,  large 
type,  with  topic  heads  and  questions,  and  is  durably  bound  in 
limp  cloth. 

Reinhart's  Out  line  Principles  of  Education 

By  J.  A.  Reinhart.,  Ph.  D.  Teachers’  Professional  Library. 
68  pp.,  limp  cloth,  25  cents. 

To  give  an  outline  of  a  great  subject,  including  nothing  trivial 
and  leaving  out  nothing  important,  is  a  great  art.  This  difficult 
task  has  been  successfully  performed  by  the  author  of  this  small 
volume,  who  is  an  educator  of  long  experience,  and  a  thorough 
student  of  the  science  of  education.  The  first  two  chapters  give 
a.  general  view  of  the  subject,  and  the  other  chapters  treat 
of  the  intuitive,  imaginative,  and  logical  stages  of  education,  and 
the  principles  of  moral  education.  This  is  one  of  the  volumes 
intended  to  be  studied  in  connection  with  the  monthly  paper, 
The  Teachers’  Profession.  Type,  printing,  binding  are  neat  aDd 
durable,  and  like  the  History  by  same  author. 

Reinhart’s  Crvics  in  Education, 

is  another  little  book  of  same  price  and  number  of  pages.  Ready 
Nov.  1891. 


SEND  ALL  ORDERS  TO 

£.  L.  KELLOGG  &  CO.,  NEW  YORK  &  CHICAGO.  23 


vlo.  3.  Hughes’  Mistakes  in  Teaching. 

By  James  L.  Hughes,  Inspec¬ 
tor  of  Schools,  Toronto, Can¬ 
ada.  Cloth,  16mo,  115  pp. 
Price,  50  cents  ;  to  teach¬ 
ers,  40  cents ;  by  mail,  5 
cents  extra. 

Thousands  of  copies  of  the  old 
edition  have  been  sold.  The 
new  edition  is  worth  double  the 
old  ;  the  material  has  been  in¬ 
creased,  restated  and  greatly 
improved.  Two  new  and  im¬ 
portant  Chapters  have  been 
added  on  “  Mistakes  in  Aims,” 
and  “  Mistakes  in  Moral  Train¬ 
ing.”  Mr.  Hughes  says  in  his 
preface  :  “In  issuing  a  revised 
edition  of  this  book  it  seems 
fitting  to  acknowledge  grate- 

james  l.  hughes.  ,^'le  hearty  appreciation 

that  has  been  accorded  it  by 
American  teachers.  Realizing  as  I  do  that  its  very  large  sale 
indicates  that  it  has  been  of  service  to  many  of  my  fellow 
teachers,  I  have  recognized  the  duty  of  enlarging  and  revis¬ 
ing  it  so  as  to  make  it  still  more  helpful  in  preventing  the 
common  mistakes  in  teaching  and  training.” 

Ninety-Six  important  mistakes  are  corrected  in  this 
book.  This  is  the  only  edition  authorized  by  the  writer. 


The  Schoolmaster  (England)— “His  ideas  are  clearly  presented.” 
Boston  Journal  of  Education.— “  Mr.  Hughes  evidences  a  thorough 
study  of  the  philosophy  of  education.  We  advise  every  teacher  to  invest 
50  cents  in  the  purchase  of  this  useful  volume.” 

New  York  School  Journal.— “  It  will  help  any  teacher  to  read  this 
book.” 

Chicago  Educational  Weekly.— “Only  long  experience  could  fur¬ 
nish  the  author  so  fully  with  materials  for  sound  advice.” 

Penn.  Teacher’s  Advocate.— “It is  the  most  readable  book  we  have 
seen  lately.” 

Educational  Journal  of  Virginia.— “We  know  no  book  that  contains 

so  many  valuable  suggestions.-’ 

Ohio  Educational  Monthly.— “  It  oontains  more  practical  hints  than 
any  book  of  its  size  known  to  us.” 

Iowa  Central  School  Journal.— “W©  know  of  no  book  containing 

more  valuable  suggestions.” 

New  York  School  Bulletin— “  It  is  sensible  and  practical.” 


Date  Due 


Oct  5  ’35 

\ 

2  Apr  3  7 

%v24’37 

MM  2  0  m 

rur.  1  ’W 

Library  Bureau  Cat.  no.  1137 


D005 


3997Y 


136.7 

P433F 

14029 

Perez 

The 

first 

three  years 

136.7  P438F  14029 


